
Class T 3"R 1 ^ 5 
Book. >H 339 £_ 

Copyright N?. . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




THEODORE HARRIS,. 

PRESIDENT LOUISVILLE NATIONAL BANKING COMPANY. 



A Banker's Views 



on 



Religious and Other 
Important Subjects 




By 
THEODORE HARRIS 

LOUISVILLE, KY. 






fci&ftARY of OOWG^SsJ 
1 wo Copies rteoei-^ 

APR 14 1908 

*ouyrigr»i entry 
t C Wo % 



Copyright, 1908 

by 

THEODORE HARRIS 



Press of C. J. KREHBIEL & CO., Cincinnati. 0. 



CONTENTS. 

Author's Preface v 

Publisher's Note vii 

Introduction ix 

On visiting my Mother's Grave 1 

Trusts 6 

The Jew 16 

The Devil 32 

Shall we have Ships or shall we not? (Written at the 

request of the Marine Journal, of New York.) 51 

Success. (Lecture delivered before the Louisville Col- 
lege of Pharmacy. ) 56 

Address at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary at re- 
quest of President John A. Broadus, D. D., LL. D.. 85 
The Position of Baptists. (Prepared for the Congress of 

Religions at the Unitarian Church of the Messiah.) . .104 

What think you of the Pulpit ? 136 

An Apology for the Errors of the Bible 147 

If a Man die, shall he live again? If so, where and how?. 151 

Thanksgiving 170 

Good Friday 175 

Easter 181 

Death — what is it ? 186 

Mercy 190 

Faith— what is it? 197 

Faith 199 

Hope 203 

Love 213 

The greatest of these 221 

Prayer 225 

The Christ of Prophecy. (A Sketch.) 233 

The Night was still 238 

(iii) 



IV CONTENTS. 

Jesus. (An Address delivered before the Young People's 
Society of the Chestnut Street Baptist Church, Louis- 
ville.) 241 

The Temptation 258 

A Thought on Christmas 265 

Christmas as an Anniversary 268 

Christmas 270 

Merry Christmas 271 

Jesus Risen = . . . . 273 

It is finished 279 

Scraps from my Bible Lessons. 

The Announcement 286 

The Symbol explained 288 

Smite Amalek 291 

Samuel's Search for a King 295 

David and Goliath 301 

Jealousy and Envy 306 

A new Heart 309 

The Prodigal Son. 314 

The Draught of Fishes 321 

Grave, where is thy Victory ? 326 

Why not? 328 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

This book would never have been intruded upon 
the public if it had been left to its author's choice. 

Scraps of fugitive writings which happen to have 
escaped destruction — this is all that it contains. 
Not that he has thought them worthy of perpetua- 
tion — not that — it is the partiality of friends to 
which he has reluctantly consented, and of consent- 
ing to it he feels ashamed — this is his feeling. With 
this he lets it go. If it is much read, he will be 
surprised ; if it does any good, he will be glad. 



(v) 



PUBLISHER'S NOTE. 

In the thrilling story of the life of Theodore Har- 
ris, we have a conspicuous illustration of the truth 
of the adage, that fact is stranger than fiction. His 
parents died before he knew a father's care, or a 
mother's love. With humble faith in God, and sub- 
lime faith in himself, he entered life's struggle and 
surmounted all difficulties. In his unique and re- 
markable career, poor young men have an inspiring 
example of success achieved in spite of early disad- 
vantages, proving that where there is a will there is 
a way. Approaching the eightieth mile-stone of 
life's journey finds him with step as supple as the 
average man of forty. His mental faculties are as 
clear and active as ever. Daily he may be seen at his 
desk, attending to the business of his bank. He is 
authority, not only in matters financial, but he ranks 
as one of the best informed men on all questions of 
general interest. In manner, he is cheerful and af- 
fable. No friend in need ever failed to find in him 
a friend indeed. To all who are so fortunate as to 
have his full confidence, he is as accommodating and 
indulgent as sound business principles will permit. 
As a patriotic and a public-spirited citizen he occu- 
pies high rank among the foremost. Recently he gave 
seventy-two thousand dollars towards the endow- 
ment of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. 

(vii) 



Till PUBLISHER S NOTE. 

He has subscribed one hundred thousand dollars 
towards the endowment of a Baptist University to 
be located in Louisville. In his beneficence he is not 
ostentatious, and only God knows the measure of 
his acts of kindness to the deserving poor. Having 
known him intimately for twenty-five years, it 
affords me pleasure to bear this testimony to his 
noble character. ^ p HARVEY. 



The Writings of Theodore Harris 



INTRODUCTORY. 



Tell something about my life? No. There is 
nothing worth the telling. And yet, for boys in 
Nova Scotia, perhaps there is, though schools are 
doubtless humanized and teachers civilized since 
I was there. Still, if it helps any boy in Nova 
Scotia to have a better time than I had — yes, I 
will tell it. For, as I think of it, there comes a 
burning sensation of indignation and of hate, 
though that is not the reason why I tell it, but to 
save some from tyranny — a tyranny I had to bear. 
And a blight that struck my childhood, robbed me 
of my education, and thus dwarfed my life. 
Kelatives of mine who see this, if any chance to, 
will read it with surprise, for this is its first telling. 

I was born in Wolfville, called also Horton, Feb- 
ruary 1, 1828. The house where I was born still 
stands. How far Wolfville extended, or what were 
its boundaries, I never knew. I don't believe it had 
any. There was one long, straight road running 
through it, made on purpose, as it seemed to me, 
for the stage which passed along it twice a day, 
and incidentally for other people. 

(ix) 



X INTRODUCTORY. 

That stage! Don't I remember it! High up and 
lofty! And those four horses, sleek and glossy, 
proud of the admiration they created and the ve- 
hicle they drew; touching the ground disdainfully 
with flying feet, and yet so lightly they scarcely 
seemed to touch it. And the driver, the greatest 
man in Nova Scotia, with his long lash that whistled 
through the air and had a cracker like a rifle 
shot. And the wild cheer that stirred the blood 
with eagerness to catch the gilded monster. This 
was one of the fascinations of my boyhood. This 
and a boat, a fishhook, and sometimes, too, a gun. 

Well, this was long ago, but as I think of it, 
it comes again with freshness. I see again the 
clear blue sky. I breathe again the odors of the 
firs and spruces, and from the dyke there comes a 
scent of new mown hay. Truly, it is a goodly land 
I see as now I wander back in memory. And it 
grew good people, too. There are no better any- 
where. 

My father was Jedediah Clark Harris. He went 
from Hallowell, Me., to Nova Scotia, and married 
my mother there. She was Lydia Ann Harding, 
eldest daughter of the Rev. Theodore Seth Harding, 
who for more than sixty years was pastor of the 
Baptist Church of Wolfville, out of which, in my 
time, there had swarmed several other churches. 
He now lies buried under the site of his first pulpit. 
In his house I was born, and there I remained un- 
til I was thirteen. My father was drowned while 
I was still an infant, and my mother died when I 
was three years old. I remember her, a vision of 



INTRODUCTORY. XI 

grace and loveliness, as once she passed before me 
as I was at play. 

I remember many things in connection with her 
which must have happened when I was two or three 
years old, because her death was preceded by a long 
and slow illness. I remember, too, that I was a 
very bad little boy. One Sunday morning my 
mother caught me by the hand to help me down 
the church steps. This displeased me. I wanted 
to go down alone. She persisted in assisting me. 
When I reached the road I insisted upon going back 
and coming down the steps alone. She would not 
hear to it. She took my one hand and my grand- 
mother the other, and thus they dragged me along 
the road while I dug my heels into the soft clay 
and screamed with all my might. And I can now 
see the people on the sidewalk as they looked at 
me. And I read their faces then and knew they 
were saying to themselves, "Oh, if I had that young 
one, I would give him something to cry for." And 
they were right. 

I learned the melody — tune, some call it — and a 
part of the first line of the hymn that was sung 
at my mother's grave, and afterwards, not compre- 
hending the mysteries of an index, sang the hymn 
myself when an aunt had found it for me in the 
hymn book; and melody and hymn still linger in 
my memory, though I have not heard either of 
them since. 

While I have no recollection of learning to read, 
I well remember my early struggles with the pen. 
It was Edward Pitch who taught my wayward 



Xll INTRODUCTORY. 

fingers to make straight marks — only they were 
never straight — and pot hooks, and, later, not only 
taught me to read music, but also exhibited me to 
chance visitors to prove his power to teach. I re- 
member this for two reasons — first, because I 
always failed when I was on exhibition, and second, 
because the people tried to look interested while 
evidently they were greatly bored. 

I must have been five or six years old when the 
"Academy" was built. My grandfather took me 
down (or was it up) the road to a point where I 
saw it being framed. And there I stood, my little 
hand in his, gazing upon it — that Academy I 
learned thereafter so bitterly to hate. When I was 
eight or nine years old I was sent to the Academy. 
There I remained until I was thirteen. During that 
time Pryor was principal, and was succeeded by 
Blanchard. Both were fair. Flogging being a part 
of the curriculum 1 it was necessarily administered 
by both. But if it was measured without stint, it 
was also given without favor. Eandall was at one 
time the assistant, and Chipman at another. Both 
were good men and gentlemen. Then came Soley. 

For my first few months at the Academy, my 
sole textbook was a copy of the New Testament. 
In this I had no lesson given me. Nor did I ever 
recite, unless by chance on Saturday, which was 
a half holiday, and the whole school was called up 
to read a chapter, one verse might fall to me. 
All day I sat at my desk, a prisoner, a martyr. I 
had my Testament, one cover gone, and nothing 
else. But, if at any time my eyes were seen to 



INTRODUCTORY. Xlll 

wander from it, I was called up, and, with a "hold- 
out-your-hand/' the black lignum vitae ruler was 
laid upon my fingers in no gentle way. Later, when 
I was possessed of slate and copybook, often my 
fingers were so numb with the teacher's lignum 
vitae that it was next to impossible to write for 
half an hour, and all for nothing for which a child 
should be blamed, much less punished. 

I was not very bright. I never wrote very well, 
and except in mental arithmetic, where, perhaps, I 
was not absolutely dull, I was not quick in figures. 
But somehow I caught on to English Grammar. 
In this, Soley had three classes. I was in his first, 
which was the highest. Joe UeWolf was about two 
years older. Beyond us they ranged up to men of 
twenty-five to thirty, men who were preparing for 
the ministry. In this class Soley commonly dis- 
pensed with mere parsing of sentences, and indulged 
chiefly in grammatical puzzles. There was no head 
or foot to the class, but we stood as we chanced 
to take our places. A question was put, perhaps, 
to one of the men. He misses it. "Next," "next," 
and so on down the line. But woe to Joe or me 
if it came to either of us and we missed it. Com- 
monly we did not, but if we did, we were re- 
minded of our error by the lignum vitae ruler. 
Why? I do not know, unless it was because Joe's 
mother was a sewing woman, and I, being brought 
up by my grandfather, was a preacher's child and 
therefore a charity scholar. 

And this was not occasionally. It was an every 
day occurrence. Indeed, it was a rare day, and 



XIV INTRODUCTORY. 

the teacher must have been preoccupied, when 
either Joe or I missed at least one flogging. And 
looking back I can most positively affirm that I 
never did a single thing in that schoolroom — and, 
so far as I know, that is also true of Joe — for 
which a child should be reproved. If Joe DeWolf 
still lives I hope he will add his recollections of 
the teacher and his lignum vitae ruler. 

Why did I endure it? Well, I suppose it was 
because I was a little fool. Always reticent, I had 
become moody. Once I began to tell my grand- 
mother, but she, good soul, interrupted me before 
I had gotten very far into my simple story with 
"Oh, well, you think so now, but when you become 
a man you will see that it was just exactly as it 
should have been." If my grandmother was right, 
at seventy-three, manhood is still somewhere in re- 
serve for me. As to my grandfather, he was so 
immersed in theology that it never occurred to 
me to complain to him. 

What effect did this have on me? I hated the 
teacher and I hated the school, and it was not so 
much the ruler, for, assuming that to be a part of 
school work, if the men had their share of it, I 
would have been content. It was the sense of 
deep injustice and my own defenselessness — it was 
that which then embittered me, and still embitters 
me. Seeing no escape I grew desperate. I even 
meditated arson as the only conceivable relief from 
my life of wretchedness. And, perhaps, the Acad- 
emy would have found an early conflagration if, 
about that time, an uncle had not proposed to me 



INTRODUCTORY. XV 

to go into his store at St. John, New Brunswick. 
I need not say how gladly I accepted the proposal. 
I should have gone to H — alifax, I'll say, to be 
polite, where this paper goes, or anywhere for 
refuge. And so, at thirteen years and two months, 
I parted with the school room, and lost the educa- 
tion my later years have craved. 

I had wished to study Latin. Indeed, my heart 
was set on it. Of course, my grandfather would 
have given me books, but by this time I had 
learned my history. I was not a child — only a 
grandchild, and a child of poverty, and I had no 
right to be a burden on his small income. By and 
by an opportunity presented itself. A pedlar came 
with a wagonload of books. They were on sale at 
Fowler's Inn. Somehow, I had acquired some pen- 
nies. I do not remember how. I took them to 
the merchant. Had he a Latin Grammar? He had 
just one. The price? Alas, I was too poor to 
buy it. 

Whether it was a pity for a child whose face, 
no doubt, disclosed his first great disappointment, 
or whether the little I had was more desirable 
than the book, I do not know. But, as I retired, 
he called me back, and I became the owner of the 
Latin Grammar. 

I have had other books since, and I have had 
other Latin Grammars. I have had many things 
men call things of worth, but never have I had 
anything I doted on so much as that first purchase 
made that night from the itinerant. Not in my 
hand I carried it; I hugged it to my heart, as de- 



XVI INTRODUCTORY. 

lightedly I ran with it all the way home, too full 
of joy to walk. 

Blanchard's desk stood upon a platform. Next 
morning I ventured up a step or two with my 
request. I would join his Latin Grammar class. 
He slowly turned his head. He took the book, 
turned to the title page; then handing it back to 
me, quietly remarked, "not the kind we use. ,, 

Blanchard was a kind man; he was, indeed, a 
noble man. Had he known the sickening sense 
with which I turned away from him on hearing 
these five words, he would have found some way 
to use that Latin Grammar. But I have never had 
the power to plead, and, as I have already said, I 
was at that time only a little fool. 

It was a bright morning in April, 1841, that I 
sailed from Windsor for St. John on the steamer 
Maid of the Mist. There never was a boy more 
glad than I. The walls of Paradise can scarce en- 
close a happier soul than mine that day. I had 
escaped from school. It was not that the bird long 
used to beat against its prison bars had found some 
careless hand had left the cage door open. The 
bird might be re-caught. It might become a prison- 
er. But I was free. Free as the wind that blew 
around me. Free as the deck I trod exultingly, and 
the billows that we rode. 

All went well that day, but that night I was 
aroused from sleep by a sudden shock. Sitting up 
in my bunk — there were no staterooms — I saw men 
squatted on the floor hastily putting on their 
clothes. To my question, "What is the matter?" 



INTRODUCTORY. XV11 

there was no response. Then came another shock, 
which threw me upon the cabin floor. This taught 
me the wisdom of sitting down to dress. But for- 
tunately I had dispensed with but little of my 
wearables when I retired and there was but little 
dressing left for me to do. Getting no answer to 
my questions, I did what others seemed to do, and 
made quick work of my remaining toilette, and 
started for the deck. About half way up the cabin 
stairs there came another shock, which sent the won- 
derseekers back upon each other like a lot of ten- 
pins. Emerging from the muddle, I at length 
reached the deck and learned that the ship was 
pounding on the rocks. What rocks I did not 
know. But that was not important. 

It was a wild scene; the waves and spray, the 
breakers in the distance, and the frightened 
passengers. One woman in her night dress, hair 
flying, was screaming for her husband. Honne- 
berry, a great big man, was captain. Two boats 
were smashed as soon as they - were launched. 
There was but one remaining. That went back and 
forth between the steamer and the shore. The 
second trip took the remainder of the women and 
children and the captain. A young man, who said 
he was an actor, and I alone remained. I did not 
deserve a bit of credit for this, because I was afraid 
to jump. They say of two evils choose the lesser. 
Jumping in the darkness, from an unsteady steamer 
to a boat which was one moment here and the next 
moment out of sight, might be the greater of the 
two. Perhaps few dangers are altogether free 



XV111 INTRODUCTORY. 

from the ridiculous. If so, this was no exception 
to the rule. 

As forward passengers there was a sergeant with 
his squad, and a woman with some children. Prob- 
ably she was a widow. What had happened 
through the day — whether the sergeant had been 
making eyes at her and had been repulsed — I did 
not know, but in the midst of the turmoil she 
rushed upon him with "Oh, Sergeant Dare, save 
mesel' and me childer and Oi'll be yer lovin' woife 
all the days av me loif." Nobody laughed at this 
at the time, but many found fun in it afterwards. 
Now I think of it, I met a very charming girl that 
trip and had a bet with her about the time of 
our arrival in St. John. I have never seen her 
since. I lost the bet, but I will pay it if she will 
send me her address. 

Before my uncle left St. John, thinking it best 
for me that I remain there, he got me a place with 
Morrison & Co. Morrison was a gentleman. So 
also, was his partner, Gilchrist. When afterwards 
I was taken ill and had to leave my place, they kept 
it open for me. When, in the end, I left for the 
United States, without my asking for it, Mr. Mor- 
rison handed me the most complimentary letter I 
have ever read. I was grateful for it, but it was 
more than I deserved. Dr. Simon Fitch was then 
practicing in St. John. Now, if still alive, he is in 
Halifax. Why he left St. John I cannot imagine, 
for he had an enormous practice there. 

Simon was my cousin. He and my uncle, who 
was still winding up in St. John, packed me off to 



INTRODUCTORY. HI 

another uncle, Dr. E. F. Harding, in Windsor, 
whom I afterwards saw mentioned in American pa- 
pers as the "distinguished geologist of Nova 
Scotia." The fascinating study of the rocks was 
then in its infancy, and my uncle was one of its 
votaries. There was no better man than this stu- 
dious Ebenezer Fitch Harding, and no grander wom- 
an than his wife. It was expected that I should die. 
Perhaps I should have done so. Perhaps it was a 
great mistake that I did not. But with these and 
a family of cousins, bright boys and charming 
girls, how could a fellow die? They lured me back 
to life and in the spring I was again at Morrison's. 

One day — it happened in the following summer 
— a buggy stopped before the door. Idle at the 
moment I was looking toward the street. It was 
Simon's buggy and he had come to see me. I re- 
monstrated. Simon was determined. I was feel- 
ing well, but no matter, I must go away. West 
Indies preferable; but, anyhow, the States, not 
north of Philadelphia. And that is why today I 
am writing you from here. In a few years I might 
return and live as long as anybody, but, well, I 
never did go back — no matter why. 

What could a lad do, who had no trade and 
knew nothing of real life, nothing of business, 
nothing but how to measure dry goods? What 
could he do to make a living among strangers? 
My uncle had given me one place, and he had ob- 
tained for me another. I had never learned to 
do anything for myself. My one desire was to 
have an education. Beyond that I had no par- 



XX INTRODUCTORY. 

ticular thought or care. Well, I drifted, drifted 
to a shop. I was again a salesman. My hours 
were seven to nine, 7 a. m. to 9 p. m. From then 
until two I had my books. Back of the store a 
room was given me. I was my own purveyor and 
my own cook. Seventy-five cents a week fed me. 
The rest was left with my employer. Soon I 
should have enough to carry me through college. 
One day the sheriff closed the door and took the 
key. My employer was a bankrupt. The savings 
of my salary were gone. 

A friend procured for me a clerkship on the 
steamer Delta, then in New Orleans. The. second 
clerk had died of yellow fever and I could take 
his place. I waited till the Delta came. But there 
had been a press of business and the vacancy was 
filled. What could I do? I had an old peajacket, 
which in other days had been my skating rig. To 
don this with my other coarsest clothes and daub 
my hands with mud to hide their whiteness was a 
moment's thought — a moment's act — and I ship- 
ped as deck hand on a steamboat. Her name (I 
learned it later) was Gennessee. Her destiny I did 
not care for. The time was winter; but I had no 
bed, nor gloves nor mittens. These I had not 
thought of. Desperation is indifference. Who 
cares? All Christmas day I rolled out bales of 
cotton and rolled in barrels of kerosene at Wheel- 
ing wharf. Was I happy? Yes. I was independ- 
ent. For the first time in my life I had secured a 
place for myself, and, though it was undesirable, I 
was making my own living. The ice was thick and 



INTRODUCTORY. XXI 

heavy in the river, and at Pittsburg the boat 
laid up. For one week's work I got four dollars 
and fifty cents. I counted it carefully, put it 
away in my pea-jacket (it was innocent of a 
pocket but had a lining) saying to myself, " Edu- 
cation to the winds; I am now going to make a 
fortune." Until then I had never thought of mak- 
ing money. Wandering up the street which open- 
ed up before me I came to a market. An Irishman 
with a board across two barrels seemed to be do- 
ing a land office business in potatoes. I proposed 
to buy him out, but my capital was insufficient. 
As I turned away I noticed a man who seemed to 
be observing me. He had a whip under his arm 
and a dray stood close by. Evidently he was a 
drayman. His manner indicated an interest in 
me and I guessed its purport. He was building a 
new dray and was looking for a driver for it. I 
was his man. But alas, it would be a month 
before the wheels could go round, and my am- 
bition thirsted for immediate work. 

I must have been a sorry looking object, for I 
was refused lodging in two humble lodging houses. 
Then I reflected. I had not seen a mirror for a 
week. I had no change of clothes, and sleeping 
in the ashes under boilers, end for end, as each 
alternately was frozen and then roasted, was not 
conducive to the utmost cleanliness. In my wan- 
derings I had seen a board yard, and I sought it. 
True, the prospect was not promising of comfort, 
for the ground was covered with an inch or two 
of sleet, and it was then snowing; but I was too 



XX11 INTRODUCTORY. 

proud to risk refusal, at another shelter. And I 
was happy. I was independent. I had earned 
some money without help. I began to feel my 
strength. I sent for clothes, which in my madness 
I had left. I dressed; I shaved. My hair was cut, 
and " presto! pass," I was again a gentleman. I 
attended auctions. I bought and sold. My little 
capital increased. I had studied harmony as a 
pastime and fairly well could write parts for voice 
and ordinary instruments. Some employment in 
that way added to my little store. 

Drifting, drifting, ever drifting, but always 
finding something better, I became a daguerreo- 
typist. This art was then comparatively unknown. 
It was not only art; it was art and chemistry com- 
bined. It had its difficulties, and they were seri- 
ous. I wrote a pamphlet on it — one dollar a copy, 
which sold far and wide. This not only added to 
my capital, but saved my life and the lives of 
two others; for writing late one night to finish it, 
I smelled fire, when otherwise I should have been 
asleep. We should have perished in the flames, or 
at best, with a wild leap into the air, our mangled 
bodies would have baffled efforts to identify them. 

When I got richer I bought into a hotel. I knew 
nothing of the business, but it only required com- 
mon sense, and I succeeded. Lastly I drifted into 
banking. But common sense again — banking has 
no mysteries which common sense and study may 
not fathom. There I remain. I shall drift no far- 
ther. I am too old. Louisville has been my 
choice. It is my abiding place. Hard by, the 



INTRODUCTORY. XX111 

cemetery now holds whatever there remains on 
earth of wife and four children. There is 
a vacant spot for me — not many days and I 
shall fill it. I came to Louisville in 1853, knowing 
no one here. Later I found there was a Dr. Nock 
and wife from Nova Scotia. Maggie Swymmer, 
nee Whitman, came afterwards. What remains of 
her lies in my lot. Dan Spalding was a leaf to- 
bacco merchant. He also came from Nova Scotia, 
and is dead. Lately young Geldert came to pub- 
lish an insurance journal. In all these years, these 
are the only Nova Scotians I have seen here, bar- 
ring my own relations who have visited me. 

But I have not lost my love for Nova Scotia. 
It was my birth-land. I love its brooks, its valleys 
and its hillsides. But my children — those who 
still remain — are Americans. In the problems yet 
to be worked out the thoughtful man can hardly 
fail to read the future of the Great Republic, and 
still the wildest dreams of optimists may be sur- 
passed. 

And now, dear Echo, a word to you. You were 
kind enough to ask me for this sketch and I have 
given it. I will not say it has not cost me some- 
thing — something of pride, to lay bare the pov- 
erty, the — as some will think it — degradation — 
and the blunders of an ill-fought life. But if I 
wrote at all, it had to be with honest ink. If any 
Nova Scotia boy shall find in it a lighthouse or 
a compass — a warning or a guide — I shall be glad 
that I have written it, and you, dear Echo, may 
be repaid for printing it. If you find neither in it 



XXIV INTRODUCTORY. 

— and indeed I think it is not worth your powder — 
consign it to your wastebasket, that final resting 
place of much that has been written and not 
printed, and much that has been printed but 
should not have been. 



ON VISITING MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

"Sacred to the memory of Lydia Ann Harris. 
Died August 20, 1831, in the 27th year of her age. 
'I am the resurrection, and the life; he that believ- 
eth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. , M 

Yes, that is it — he who believeth. I read it when 
the western sunbeams filtered through the over- 
hanging branches and softly fell, a benediction on 
thy resting place. And now I come again, in the 
hush of midnight, with only the pale stars and Him 
above to witness, hoping to meet thee. 

It is thy child, mother, that cries to thee, only 
the little boy you left so long ago — come from 
many a night of weariness and care to meet you 
here. Will you not come to me, mother — and I 
have come so far? 

Oh, now I feel thy presence. I knew that you 
would come. But yet, I cannot see thee, mother. 

I am standing exactly where I stood just 75 years 
ago when they lowered you down into the deep, 
dark, silent grave. Older grown by many years, 
but still thy child, mother. They said that you 
were dead, mother, but what was dead? Perhaps 
I understand it better now, dear mother, and yet 
perhaps not much. 

The scene comes back to me, just as it was then. 
Only the crowded' faces round thy grave. They 

1 



I THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

are not here, and yet they seem to be — those wKo 
sang that day and those who spoke. All have 
followed thee; I only still remain. 

Yes, I feel thy spirit. Only you do not as you 
used to. You do not take me in your arms and wipe 
away my falling tears. 

And so often I have grieved thee — or would have 
if the kind Father had not veiled from thee my 
wild and wicked ways. The little paper book where- 
on you wrote, "I hope my little boy will know this 
catechism by heart before he learns to read this 
writing." Oh, for that little paper book! what 
would I not give to have it now. Forgive me, 
mother. I did learn to read the writing, but I 
never learned the little book. 

For all the wrong I did, for all I have done 
since — speak to me, mother. Tell me you forgive. 
You used to do it here, and you have been so long 
in heaven where the air is fragrant with the per- 
fume of forgiveness, I know that you can do it now. 

But I was so little what your child should have 
been and in later years so unlike what you hoped 
I should be. Only in my regrets, my penitence, 
your prayers for me were answered. 

Oh, why did you die so young, while I remained 
to linger to old age? Why were you taken from 
me when you loved me and I sent out a waif upon 
life's sea without a rudder or a chart; without a 
mother's love, a mother's guidance? And yet, and 
yet — "He doeth all things well." 

Are you often with me, mother? — strengthening 
my weakness, luring me to ways of right? Was 



ON VISITING MY MOTHER S GRAVE. 3 

it you who held me back and baffled the assassins? 
And was it you who contrived and brought about 
the seeming accident and kept me here when the 
skilled doctors gave me up? Have you been my 
guardian angel all through those weary years since 
first I stood upon this sacred spot? Have you been 
thus with me in my wanderings (save only when the 
loving Father sank obscuring clouds before your 
eyes), foregoing all the joy that Heaven delights to 
give ? Have you forsaken all of this for me ? Why 
should I not have gone to thee at one of the several 
times when, as we say, death threatened ? What pur- 
pose is there in the dread that we all have of death? 
Your father and mother having gone, your brothers 
and sisters having gone; when also I shall go I 
think that you will seldom come within the zone 
of Earth. But will you ever forget your birthplace 
altogether ? 

And your father, my good grandfather? There 
must be a pulpit somewhere for a man who was 
so great a preacher here. And there must be ig- 
norant and uninformed in Heaven. 

Seen only in his wondrous works, is the Great 
Father still almost as much unknown to you as 
us? 

Is the "Only Begotten" always with you or is 
he sometimes absent on his deeds of sacrifice and 
mercy? Do you see the dreadful scars upon his 
holy hands and feet, the spear mark in his side? 
Is it the humble that are nearest to Him, the proud 
the most remote? Does he often talk with you and 
does he call you daughter? Have you seen the 



4 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

woman that he talked with at the well, and have 
you met with Mary Magdalene? Do you love him 
now much more than when you learned to love 
him here? And does he seem to you in any way 
as other men who have cast off their robes of flesh — 
greater only as Heaven is than Earth, and He, than 
other men? 

How much there must be where you are that 
we cannot imagine ! Has Beethoven found new har- 
monies that we have no conception of? Do you now 
and then take nights to other worlds and see them 
in their infancy, their manhood, their greater growth 
than we have yet attained? What study most en- 
gages your attention? 

Barring climate and results that now therefrom, 
do you not find that other worlds are peopled much 
as ours? — that toil and strife; that industry, am- 
bitions and affections; that marriage, birth and 
death obtain, and they, too, are as ignorant of what 
comes after death as we ? Do you not find that ours 
is but a sample of the planets and their satellites — 
the greater and the less as we have continents and 
inlands equally inhabited — that float around our 
Sun? 

I feel sure that you can hear from other sys- 
tems, but I am not sure that you can visit them. 
But what a happiness to know! Is it not that 
which mostly is the joy of Heaven? And to think, 
that that shall never stop, that always there shall 
be still more to know. And God could not be 
God were that not so. 

I do not ask that you will tell me of the won- 



ON VISITING MY MOTHER S GRAVE. 5 

ders of what we call Heaven. That which Paul did 
not attempt to tell and John could not make under- 
standable must need ideas and words beyond our 
range of thought and language. 

What? You say that you must leave me — that 
you have duties calling? Then adieu, dear mother. 
To Him and to your work while I go back to mine. 
I thank you for this meeting. Here at your grave, 
in the silence and the stillness have I indeed felt 
your presence. You leave me with the impress of 
your spirit on my soul. And yet, before you go, 
dear mother, I would that I could feel the imprint 
of your lips on mine — at least that I might touch 
the hem of your celestial garment. But no? You 
say not now, not yet? 



TRUSTS, 

Like all other things, may be useful to a commu- 
nity and they may not. 

The word Trusts has been much abused. In com- 
mon use it has come to be a synonym of oppression 
and much in business that is dishonest. But this 
is not always true. 

Trusts, in their origin, were an outgrowth of ne- 
cessity. Let us illustrate: A, B and C were manu- 
facturers of hats. They did an active business, paid 
good wages, sold their products, and, as the phrase 
goes, were making money. D, E, F and G, enter- 
prising men, seeing this, entered the business, too, 
and all did well. But they were followed by the 
remainder of the alphabet and many others also, 
until in time there were not men enough in America 
to wear the hats that all of them made. This did 
not come in a day, it came gradually. 

What was the result? First, as competition re- 
duced prices, wages were cut down. Next, as com- 
petition increased, in order to keep the factories 
employed, wages were cut again. This continued 
until at last, with wages at starvation point, and 
employers losing money, failures came. Here and 
there a factory is closed. The little that the work- 
man had laid by is eaten up. Bankruptcy threat- 

6 



TRUSTS. 7 

ens. People say, "Hard times have come/' and they 
have. What then? 

Some clear-headed fellow, who understands the 
situation, gets all those manufacturers together and 
makes it plain to them. 

What is it? Why simply this: There are more 
hats made than there are heads to wear them, and 
of course, all can not be sold. There is a surplus. 
The struggle to sell this surplus, of which each 
probably has his share, reduces prices; first a little, 
then more, until at last the prices fall below the 
cost of making. 

This is the situation. All now see it. What is 
the remedy? Plainly this: Eeduce the output to 
the need. With some figuring they conclude that 
twenty million hats are needed. Twenty millions 
can be sold, but thirty millions are now being made. 
They must reduce the output to the need. How? 
There are various ways of doing this. Sometimes 
they pool their orders and pro rate them, sometimes, 
here and there, a factory is closed. Again, all the 
factories continue running, but with less output. 

The point to be attained is this: The surplus 
being 33 1-3 percent., the total output must be 
reduced to that extent and each must bear his share 
of the reduction. They agree to this, and they ap- 
point a man, and trust him, to see that this agree- 
ment made among themselves is fairly carried out 
by all. And this is a Trust. Is there anything 
wrong about it? Observe: They can not sell that 
surplus in Europe where hats cost less than here; 
they can not sell it elsewhere for there they meet 



8 THE WRITINGS OP THEODOEE HARRIS. 

with European competition. They are limited to 
the home market. 

Now this Trust, having been created, what is the 
result? The factory that closed because it could 
not live is open. The grocer who in sympathy has 
trusted; the board bills long behind, — the whistle 
breaks the silence of the grave of commerce, the 
wheels go round, the men have work, the debts will 
soon be paid; the people say, "good times have 
come." Anything wrong in that? And yet, the 
papers write and people talk, as though that were 
dishonest. 

Just here I am reminded of the mad cry against 
the most abused man in America. Is it gross ignor- 
ance, or is it vicious socialism? We have a leaven 
of that sort among us that ought to be rebuked, and 
I fear will have to be repressed. Is it simply be- 
cause that he is rich? Granted that it is a reproach 
to me that another has succeeded and I have not. 
Of course in my esteem he is not wiser or more 
gifted ; he must have used dishonest means. Is that 
all that there is in it? He must be the bravest of 
all men to stand it, and not like another rich man 
in his city, expatriate himself. But God forbid that 
we should lose our rich men. What would the poor 
men do without them? 

In writing a paper upon Trusts, of course, it is 
not my business to go outside my subject. But it 
happens that right here I feel like interpolating and 
saying what I think. 

I am no defender of Mr. Rockefeller. I have 
never seen him, I have never had a business trans- 



TRUSTS. y 

action with him, and there is not one chance in a 
thousand that I shall ever do the one or have the 
other. But in the name of common sense and justice 
for what is it that he is so much abused? So far 
as I can see, there are two charges, — First, in busi- 
ness he is a sharp competitor, and second, he gets 
rebates from railroads. 

In business it is a common maxim that " compe- 
tition is the life of trade, ' ' which means that compe- 
tition is not an evil, but a good. But granting it to 
be an evil, have you ever known a merchant who 
would not surpass his rival if he could? Is Mr. 
Rockefeller an angel that more from him must be 
expected than from other merchants? I say this 
if the charge is true, not knowing if it is or not. 

As to the other charge, — What shipper would not 
get the lowest rates of transportation that he could ? 
And as to rebate, — What is that but another word 
for discount, with which, in large mercantile trans- 
factions, everywhere transfers of goods are made. Of 
course, there may be frauds in rebates ; there seem to 
be in all other things; there may be also in theology. 
Indeed, if we were on a hunt for frauds it might 
be we should find them thickest in the pulpit; but 
there they are immune from penalties. 

No ! this is all stuff and nonsense. Mr. Rockefeller 
may be dishonest, but surely there is no proof of it 
in all of this. Moreover, for a man as rich as he 
to be dishonest, he must also be a fool, and I do 
not believe he is. 

Just now, however, there is a bill before Congress 
which, if it passes, will not only do away with re- 



10 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

bates, but will also empower a commission to fix 
the rates of railroads. Whether or not an act of 
Congress, which takes away from a Railroad Com- 
pany the right to say what it shall and what it shall 
not charge for what it does, and places that right 
both arbitrarily and exclusively in the hands of 
other persons, will be upheld by the Supreme Court, 
remains to be seen. 

In the complexities of the profit and loss account 
of a common carrier, one of the most difficult prob- 
lems for the railroad expert to work out, is the 
exact cost to his company of any particular serv- 
ice. But this, if this bill becomes a law, is to be 
hereafter determined, not by the railroad experts, 
but by a corps of gentlemen who, presumably, what- 
ever their attainments otherwise may be, have never 
kept a ledger in a railroad office. 

Trusts, like anything and everything, may be 
abused. I do not say they are, I do not say that 
they are not. I do not know. I think they some- 
times are unwise, when, for example in their books 
they double up the values of their properties. But 
then if the humor strikes me to say my horse is worth 
two hundred dollars when I know he is not worth 
a hundred, who is hurt by it? Those who buy trust 
stock are supposed to know their values. If they 
do not, they had better let the stock alone. 

The Standard Oil is often referred to as a Trust. 
I do not think it is, because I see no reason why 
it should be, but whether it is or not, the world is 
much indebted to it for cheap oil. This is made pos- 
sible by its immense capital which enables it to lay 



TRUSTS. 11 

pipe lines for the conveyance of its products from 
point to point at much less than railroads can trans- 
port it. 

But speaking of Trusts — one thing is sure. When 
any form of manufactured goods exceeds the vol- 
ume of demand, there must be some correction or 
disaster will ensue. The Trust is one correction. 
It may not be the best, but it seems to be the best 
thus far devised. With our protective system we 
are practically excluded from most foreign markets. 
If we compete in them, it must be with lower prices 
than we get at home. Shall we then abandon our 
protective system in order that we may make and 
sell as cheaply as the European? Then the wage 
earner must be content with European wages and he 
will not consent to that. But it must be either that, 
or sales abroad at prices less than here, or glut 
of market and disaster, or Trusts, or some new plan 
not yet devised, when any form of manufactured 
goods exceeds home needs. For the one great law 
of supply and demand is universal, and admits of 
no exceptions. 

With the above the writer of this paper closed, 
believing that sufficient had been said. In defer- 
ence, however, to the opinion of a gentleman who is 
both a thinker and a scholar, answers to the fol- 
lowing questions asked by him are added in order 
to a fuller treatment of the subject: 

Question 1. "When the Hat Trust is formed and 
the output is made twenty millions instead of thirty 
millions, the Trust absolutely controls the market 



12 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

and can fix the price so that hat wearers must pay 
whatever the Trust says. Now, human nature being 
as it is, are not the Trust managers liable to raise 
the price so as to make enormous profits?" 

They might if hats were only made at home. But 
England, France and Germany are making hats 
as good as ours. Our ports are open to them, our 
stores are stocked with them. The Trust may sell 
within the cost of importation and a reasonable prof- 
it ; it can not sell beyond it. 

Question 2. "When all of the necessities of life 
have become controlled by Trusts, what is to pre- 
vent the common people from becoming mere ' hewers 
of wood and carriers of water' for Trust magnates?" 

The necessities of life are mainly food stuffs. 
The question implies the possibility of a combine 
of all our agricultural interests to raise the price 
thereof. Saying nothing of the remoteness of such 
a possibility, in the event that it should happen, we 
might perhaps imitate the action of the ancients. 
In Babylon, besides its public stores, each household 
seems to have had its garden; and against starva- 
tion siege, Babylon might have remained impreg- 
nable from Cyrus until now. In such a case as is 
suggested by the question, we might have to sacrifice 
our pretty grass plots, but somehow we should beat 
the Trust. Those who have not tried it would be 
surprised to know how small a piece of ground suf- 
fices to maintain a family. 

Question 3. ' ' The Trusts ship goods to Europe 
and sell them there far cheaper than they sell the 
same goods here. I can buy in Europe American- 



TRUSTS. 13 

made goods at half what I have to pay here in many- 
cases. Must you not admit that this means extor- 
tion at home?" 

Here we have the statement of a fact in connec- 
tion with a question. I am not sure about the fact. 
Trusts were contrived for home protection, not for 
exports. It may be that Trust goods have been 
shipped abroad. I will not say they have not been ; 
I say I know of no such shipment. But it is undoubt- 
edly true that American goods are often sold in 
Europe for less than they are here. They were when 
Trusts had not been thought of, and they will be 
still, if other things continue as they are, when Trusts 
become accepted as necessities or cease to be. Let 
us see some reasons for it. 

A manufacturer in America, overstocked with 
goods, which for any reason it will not pay to store, 
must get rid of them as best he can. Sometimes, 
in such a case, Europe is his best, perhaps his only, 
market, and there he may be compelled to take a 
price below the cost of manufacture. That is one 
reason. Here is another. 

The low cost of ocean transportation favors sales 
of goods abroad. Because of this, strange as it may 
seem, flour forwarded from Louisville, is laid down 
in London, Bremen, Liverpool and Hamburg at less 
cost per barrel than the current price of drayage 
here for the hauling of a single barrel half a dozen 
squares. 

American sewing machines are sold all over Eu- 
rope at less price than here, but they are made in 
Europe with less cost of labor. That is also true of 



14 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

many other forms of so-called American manufac- 
tured goods, which pass as such but which never 
left our shores. 

These are some of the reasons why American 
manufactured goods — really or so-called — are sold 
abroad at prices less than here. It does not, there- 
fore, necessarily follow that because of this our peo- 
ple are oppressed or that Trusts have anything to 
do with it. 

The most noted of such sales are those made by 
the Great Steel Works; but this is an incorporated 
company, not a Trust. Whether its sales abroad 
are forced by overstock, invited by cheap ocean 
transportation and at a loss, or made because they 
yield a satisfactory profit, only those who know the 
cost of billets and steel rails can tell. 

Of course, the chief cause of our high prices is 
our system of protection. If we had free trade 
the cheapest markets of the world would be at our 
doors; but then, if we had always had free trade, 
many of our industries which are now affording 
work for thousands would never have existed. Pro- 
tection encouraged them and they arose. 

If we say that every foreign hat shall pay a dol- 
lar or it shall not land, this does not only mean 
that our government shall get that dollar, it also 
means that our hatmaker shall get a dollar more 
for every hat he makes and thereby, too, be able to 
pay his workmen more for making them. 

I am not saying we should put the dollar on the 
foreign hat or we should not. I am looking at 
things as they are. It may be, however, if we did 



TRUSTS. 15 

not put the dollar on the foreign hat, we would 
not make hats at all and foreign hats would sell 
for more than they do now. 

The question, therefore, of the prices we must 
pay for manufactured goods is simply a question 
of protection. There are good arguments for this, 
there are good arguments for free trade, and there 
are advocates of both. Just now we have protec- 
tion. But as ours is a popular government, what 
our policy shall be hereafter will be as our people 
shall decide. 

But, speaking for myself, I am so much of an 
American that if I had the making of our laws, I 
would foster every industry that had within itself 
the promise of ultimately meeting foreign competi- 
tion without protection and no others. 

Thus, while I would not grant protection to a 
grower of pineapples in Kentucky because I know 
that he could only grow them under glass, and never 
grow them at the cost at which they could be 
brought here, I would grant protection to the mak- 
ers of such things as might in time be useful in- 
dustries without protection. And I would gradually 
reduce protection as the need for it diminished until 
that industry could stand alone; and I would with- 
hold protection from Trust goods whenever Trusts 
became monopolies. We have forms of manufacture 
now which are independent of protection but which, 
without it, never could have risen. Moreover, while 
under such a system Trusts might still be formed, 
whether a blessing or a curse, they could not long 
continue. 



THE JEW. 

Those of you who, for the last six months, have 
thoughtfully followed the course of that heroic peo- 
ple, commonly called Jews, must have been im- 
pressed with sadness, as, step by step, you wit- 
nessed their decline and fall. The tree had 
branched; but, as the stream is lost when folded 
in the arms of ocean, one branch had sunk, the other 
floated, but without sail or rudder, as a sport to 
every wind and wave. 

There was no Joshua to lead, no Solomon to guide, 
no shepherd boy with sling to champion the hosts; 
nor was there voice of prophecy so loud that Israel 
could hear or Judah heed. So Israel sank beneath 
the waves of time, and Judah as a nation, disap- 
peared. Israel lived about 219 years; Judah about 
131 years longer. 

I said they were heroic. They were. If, in the 
lapse of centuries, they lost their heroism and degen- 
erated, is it surprising? Manhood is a growth of 
liberty. Spurned, distrusted and abased, how could 
they keep it? Bastinadoed both in soul and body 
through all time and by all other people, is it not 
a wonder they have any manhood left at all ? Where, 
through all the weary centuries, has Judah had fair 

16 



THE JEW. 17 

play? What slave-holder in Kentucky ever treated 
blacks so harshly? Where, except in England and 
America, is he not even now oppressed? Outside of 
England hardly a century has fallen from the hand 
of time since the octroi or entrance fee for any 
Jew to any town in Europe — was it not the same as 
that which was imposed by law upon the ox, or ass, 
or cow? Thus did the Jew find himself classed with 
the dumb beasts. Like them, too, dumb, he bore it. 

Perhaps nothing can more clearly show the in- 
justice to the Jew than the fact that in Roumania 
and some other European countries it is said to be 
still common for judges of courts who wish to 
keep their ermine clean to caution Christian wit- 
nesses that they must tell the truth on oath, al- 
though a Jew is in the case. 

And this is now almost 2,500 years since Judah 
was a nation. Battered and bruised through all 
these centuries, is it a wonder that the Jew has 
ceased to be heroic? Hopeless, behind its prison 
bars, even the lion slinks away before its keeper's 
lash. 

The Jew was not aggressive as a soldier, but 
splendid in defense. He fought for God, his temple 
and his home with reckless disregard of life. 

If, since he ceased to have a country, he has not 
been famous as a soldier, why should he be? What 
is there in contumely to inspire love ? or in persecu- 
tion to breed affection for its shackles? Who, but 
the man of Galilee ever loved his enemy? 

In the time of Solomon, he may have had some 



18 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

dreams of universal empire; but, whatever other 
forms his avarice assumed, he seems not to have 
coveted the lands of other nations. True, he dis- 
possessed the Canaanites, but they were squatters. 
The lands were his, patented to him in heaven, the 
strongest title deeds man ever had. With these he 
was content. He was no Alexander. In the divine 
economy he had a mission. In the great theatre of 
human acts he had his part. It was not war. When 
he obtained his lands his sword was to resolve into 
a pruning hook. He was not born for conquest. 
The hand of Shem was not to hold a sceptre over 
Japheth. That was the dictum of the prophets. And 
yet, in time, the universal king shall be the man of 
Nazareth. 

Some one has said in substance: When Israel 
ceased to be a nation she became a religion. Mak- 
ing fair allowance for poetic license, we may ac- 
cept the statement. And still, perhaps, the poet has 
not overdrawn on his imagination. The temple was 
destroyed, but its dust was scattered. Each atom 
was a seed of truth. Judah had not perished. It 
reappeared in other climes, in other literature, in 
other laws. The house had fallen, but in its place 
the light which it had hidden was revealed. Pil- 
grims, like particles of matter, absorbed it. The 
winds of persecution scattered it. The spectroscope 
of Christianity dispersed the rays, threw out the 
false, retained the true. While the walls of Jerusa- 
lem were tilting, its scholars were writing the Mishna 
and Gemara. They sought to save the religion and 



THE JEW. 19 

the nation. They lost the one; the other was pre- 
served. In their view, Judah and religion, like light 
and heat, could not exist apart. God saw it other- 
wise. Israel perished, her religion survived. And 
her people though seemingly faithless to their faith — 
though apparently disbelieving the writings of their 
own book, survive because of them. Thus, from the 
glory of David to the despair of Nineveh and Baby- 
lon; from birth to burial; from the cradle to the 
grave, have we followed this child of destiny till 
wrecked upon the shore of time, or sunk beneath 
its waves, yet, like a meteor in its downward 
flight, leaving a stream of light behind it as it dis- 
appeared. 

The pillar of cloud had vanished. The fire re- 
mained, but only to express the wrath of an offended 
God. 

But, after all, has the Jew lost his heroism? Is it 
not heroic to endure? To stand upon the stage of 
time, slippery with the blood of persecution, and 
see the centuries revolve, and all the while to bare 
the breast to tempest and to storm ; to be unarmored ; 
yet, a target for the shot and shell of obloquy, of 
loathing and of hate? 

I shall not say much to you about the sufferings 
of the Jews in all nations and all times ; how they 
everywhere have been robbed of wealth, and some- 
times of their children; how they have been the 
victims of the inquisition and the hangman; how 
the fagot and the sword have followed them from 
place to place. These are such common facts of 
history they are well known to you. 



20 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Moses said they should become a hiss and by- 
word in all nations, and if Moses had never said 
another word, that alone should place him among 
the greatest of the prophets. 

Nor shall I spend time upon that miracle of 
miracles which stares the student in the face — a 
people without a throne, without a king, without a 
ruler, without a government of any kind — aye. with- 
out a magistrate or constable — and this for 1,800 
years, and, though thus ever among all other people, 
yet never absorbed by them; of this, a violation of 
all laws of sociology; of this, which has no parallel 
in history, I shall not speak. You are familiar with 
it. There is but one answer to this puzzle — this 
one exception to all laws of human nature — God said 
it should be, and it is. To him who thinks there is 
no God; to him who thinks there is no inspiration 
in the Bible; this meets him in the highway of in- 
vestigation as a startling question. For, if no God, 
here is an eccentricity of human nature which no 
philosophy can possibly account for. 

And when in the dim distant future the Arch- 
angel shall call these scattered rain drops from the 
remotenesses of their several wanderings, they shall 
recognize the voice and gather from the forests and 
the fields and the busy haunts of men, and Zion 
shall again become a flowing river. But from all 
of these and kindred questions, throbbing though 
they are with interest, I turn aside to give my time 
to thoughts of other things which possibly are less 
familiar. 



THE JEW. 21 

To the Jew, fresh from the polytheism of Egypt, 
the utterance from Sinai must have been unwar- 
ranted assumption. Jehovah was God. There was 
no other. All other gods were fables. There were 
no other gods. That was a hard lesson for the Jew 
to learn, so hard he never fully learned it. Per- 
haps you and I would have done no better. It is 
hard to overcome original belief. The law which he 
received from Sinai has always been the marvel of 
all thinkers. It stands alone. In comprehensiveness 
and condensation there is nothing like it in all litera- 
ture. Through the laws of modern nations it has 
expanded into thousands of large volumes, but it 
has not been added to by a syllable, or a letter, or a 
thought. 

As in the time of our last lesson Nebuchadnezzar 
was the lash Jehovah laid upon his people, so there- 
after, persecution in some form, because God's com- 
mon means of punishment. As part of this, the 
chosen people must be scattered. Not Palestine — 
the wide, wide earth must be their habitation. Stop- 
ping, not resting; camping, not abiding. Where is 
the nation, where is the clime which has not looked 
with wonder upon the paschal lamb — first eaten 
'neath the shadows of the pyramids? Where is the 
people that has not heard the story of the death 
angel and seen the frightful consequence of sin? 
And thus the Jew, though outcast, was still an in- 
strument of God — an object lesson in misfortune, 
and a teacher of the truth that he had trampled on, 
but still, with more or less belief, adhered to. And, 



22 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

after all, his God had not forgotten him. Though 
still a wanderer, a father's care had followed him. 
But, while he has grown gray in grief, he has not 
been without some compensation. His parentage 
of suffering and sorrow have fitted him for all vicis- 
situdes of time and place, and heredity has fashioned 
him to be the most facile of human beings. This 
is much. He abides among all people, he is submis- 
sive to all governments and equally indifferent to 
all. In none is he a factor. The republic or the 
monarchy; the tropics or the frozen regions; Popu- 
lism, Republicanism or Democracy; free silver, ex- 
pansion or contraction, no matter what. He has 
convictions, but you do not see them. He is the 
child of fate he thinks. He is the wondrous child 
of Providence. 

From his hard lessons in suffering he has learned 
adaptability. That, too, is much to him. If in 
character he has gained in cunning and lost in home- 
ly honesty, is it not his Gentile persecutor who has 
taught him? For, was it not his cheek and not the 
Christians' that through all of his sad centuries 
was always smitten? Is it not he who was reviled, 
and, though reviled, has not reviled again? Has he 
not been the lamb of sacrifice, the scapegoat of the 
nations ; the silent bearer of the sins of many ? Has 
he not through all the centuries borne the cross 
which he set up? 

In some places, until a few years back, perhaps 
even yet, on each Good Friday, and sometimes on 
other days, have not the chief men of Jewish faith 



THE JEW. 23 

assembled in the town hall to receive, each man, a 
blow upon his face from some official hand, in token 
of his degradation? And, more or less, symbolically 
or really, was not this the way in every land? 

How must the Jew in the silence of his degrada- 
tion have often lifted up his heart-cry, "How long, 
oh Lord, how long?" He has borne all this, and 
yet his religion was not based upon the Sermon on 
the Mount. If he were not as honest as he ought 
to be, his ethics were the outgrowth of the law — 
eye for eye, tooth for tooth — but he had lost more 
eyes and teeth than he had ever taken. If he is a 
cheat, is it not because he has been cheated? If he 
is a rogue, is it not the Christian who, in part at 
least, has made him one ? If the records of insolvent 
courts show more failure among the Jews than Chris- 
tians, is the ratio greater? Read the signboard on 
your streets. In trade the Jew has almost rooted 
out the Christian. And when he fails, commonly, 
he fails more wisely than the Christian. He takes 
care of borrowed money and lets his losses fall on 
those who, if in the failure they lose all, are still 
ahead from previous dealings. 

And then, it must be admitted his immoralities are 
rather' of a harmless kind, for to be cheated in a 
yard of cloth is not a serious matter. He is not a 
drunkard; he is of no trouble to the police; he is 
not a violator of the law ; you do not find him in the 
penitentiary; he is never a disturber of the peace; 
you do not see him in the courts — except, perhaps, 
sometimes in the bankrupt court. And if in any 
other court, it is not for murder, for larceny or for 



24 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

divorce. He is a good neighbor, a quiet citizen ; and 
as a father, brother, son, he has no peer. In indus- 
try he is a model. And he has a heart and loves as 
tenderly as any other man. But if his love does not 
extend beyond his family and race what wonder? 
Shakespeare made no mistake in the character he 
drew. Shylock loved his dollars; he loved his 
daughter more. But he had no love to squander on 
the Christian. Why should he? 

Then think ! What a patient man he is, and what 
a dreamer! For nearly 3,000 years, from Nineveh 
and Babylon till now, his sufferings have been 
soothed by dreams of a coming Messiah and a com- 
ing glory which should surpass all other conquerors 
and all other glories. In hunger and in thirst, in 
tribulation and distress, these dreams were his sup- 
port. He lived in them, he died in them. They were 
the earliest conceptions of his childhood, they were 
his last lingering thoughts as his pulse beat slower, 
and his breath came shorter, and time, and the far 
off or the near, whichever you will have it, strug- 
gled for the mastery. In every such a life, in every 
such a death, we see the poetry, the patriotism and 
the heroic endurance of nearly 3,000 years. Call it 
a dream, call it a phantom, call it a mental will-o'- 
the wisp, call it anything you please, it is phenome- 
nal in human history. There is nothing like it else- 
where. 

Commonly the Jew is a student, and if he studies 
nothing else he studies human nature. Perhaps this 
is the most useful of all studies. In literature and 
art, if he has not been ahead, he has not been behind. 



THE JEW. 25 

!And if the French Revolution gave to him his rights 
of manhood, Pasteur alone has a hundred times re- 
paid the obligation. Not only by his great achieve- 
ments did he give renown to France, he also saved 
her from financial ruin. Her great industries in 
wine and silk were threatened with extinction. He 
found the sickness in the silk worm, and the phyl- 
loxera in the grape. He found the remedy for both ; 
he saved the nation. For his great discoveries the 
world must ever bow in admiration to the Jew, Pas- 
teur. 

It seems to be a contradiction of the commonly 
supposed law of consanguineous marriage or in 
breeding. But the fact remains that Jewish chil- 
dren are more precocious than those of other parent- 
age, and statistics show that though in Jewish fam- 
ilies there are, compared with other families, less 
births, a greater number of their children reach 
maturity. 

What I have thus far said applies rather to the 
Jew in general, the average Jew. The Polish Jew 
that I have seen in Europe, with his long, shiny 
coat and curly locks, a reader only of the Mishna, 
the Gemara and the Talmud, is a holy man who 
mingles not with other men. He is the modern 
Pharisee. We do not see him here. He is the one 
extreme. The American Jew, with whom we are 
familiar, is the other. The one, as we were told 
in the beautiful sermon of last Sunday morning, 
still looks for his Messiah. The other has already 
found the coming one in Progress. The one still 
barricades himself behind the ramparts which the 



26 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Talmud has thrown up ; the other has thrown down 
the walls and revels in his freedom. Each has his 
errors. But the one still clings to all that Moses 
taught; the other gambols in a dangerous liberty. 
That the American Jew is fast drifting into infideli- 
ty is painfully apparent. In a book recently pub- 
lished by the chief rabbi here, a scholar and a highly 
gifted man, if I read his book aright, Abraham and 
the patriarchs, and indeed, all back of Moses, are 
but myths. Thus, strange to say, the nation of the 
Bible, now, in part at least, ignores the Bible. It 
has no fixed belief. So far as I can see the Jew 
has next to no belief at all. He will discuss all other 
questions with you, but waives the question of re- 
ligion with a smile, not exactly at your ignorance, 
but as one might smile at the remembrance of the 
story books of childhood, or of the keen interest 
with which he hung his stocking up and fell asleep 
to dream of Santa Claus. As a rule, I think, they 
still believe there is a God, but some of them do not. 
Some have a vague idea that they shall live again, 
but many think, with revolutionary France, that 
death is an eternal sleep. While this is sad for the 
Jew, it is dangerously demoralizing for the Chris- 
tian. They live among us, they are a part of us. 
With many, their notorious disregard of their own 
religion and their own book is a dangerous leaven 
working infidelity among ourselves; and to the con- 
servator of Christian ethics it is a question for seri- 
ous consideration. From what I know of the average 
American Jew, I am forced to the opinion that, with 
him, religion is a word; the temple, a society; the 



THE JEW. 27 

service, a pleasant meeting place for educational in- 
struction in the questions of the day, and to keep 
the young people in the paths of rectitude and Ju- 
dah. If it has any deeper meaning I have not found 
it. 

It may seem strange to some that between the 
Jew and Gentile, dwelling side by side, there is so 
little social intercourse. It is strange of the aver- 
age American Jew because I think he wishes it, and 
certainly the Christian has no objection to it. And 
this has also been remarked to me by observers in 
European cities, where there are many Jews of the 
class which we have here who have abandoned 
their Ghettoes and have chosen dwellings among the 
Gentile population with the evident desire to break 
down the wall of separation. But about the only 
result of such efforts has been that Jewish men and 
Christian men are found together in directorships 
of banks and commercial corporations; and Jewish 
women and Christian women mingle more or less in 
charitable societies. Beyond such feeble beginnings 
the object sought, however desirable its accomplish- 
ment, has not proceeded. 

But social equality or social commerce of any 
kind is not desired by the devout. Indeed, upon the 
contrary, as though the wisest had forseen that Is- 
rael might not withstand the shocks of many waters, 
the writers of the Talmud labored to build up a 
wall which should not only keep out the wolves, but, 
what was more important, most effectually keep in 
the sheep. That these walls have been undermined 
is to many of them plainly evident. A late novelist, 



28 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

writing on this subject, gives the sad plaint of one 
of these conservators of the higher Jewish law, in 
words to which our hearts respond. "Our children 
have no longer our beliefs, they have not your be- 
liefs. They do not say our prayers. They do not 
pray at all. They believe in nothing." This is a 
serious question for the student of sociology. If 
true, and I fear it is, paradoxical, then, as it may 
appear, Israel was protected by persecution. As, 
through the years, persecution has decreased, the 
defenses which the iron-bound Talmud threw around 
her have been gradually cast off and Israel and the 
world at large have come nearer to each other. 
Christianity — not the Christianity of the middle 
ages, but the Christianity of modern times — must 
have the credit for this. The solvent of the wall 
which Judah had set up was not only toleration, it 
was love. The eminently pious are aware of this. 
They see in it so great a menace to their faith that it 
is doubtful if they would not prefer the social fet- 
ters of the past to what they may regard as the de- 
structive liberties of the present. There is no reason 
why there may not be social union. There is no rea- 
son why there should not be more religious union 
than there is, but there can be no complete religious 
union till the Jew accepts the Man of Galilee as his 
Messiah. That he will do this some time the Chris- 
tian can not doubt; nor can he cease to pray, God 
send it soon. Till then I am glad to think that Shem 
and Japheth, nearer to each other now than they 
ever have been before, will come still nearer as the 
days go by. 



THE JEW. 29 

With one more thought I close. It is common to 
deride the Jew. It is common to speak contemptu- 
ously of him. Do not do it. He is God's child. 
The book tells of one who was ridiculed by some, 
and because of that bears came from the wilderness 
and devoured them. We owe the Jew a debt which 
we can never pay. Through all the ages and through 
all vicissitudes of time he kept for us and handed 
down to us the priceless writings of his prophets. 
Towards his faults we should be lenient. The waters 
of baptism have flowed over us in vain if we have 
forgotten to be charitable. 

Then though his God may punish him, we have no 
right to. Babylon, as we have seen, was made by 
God a means of punishment; but when the Baby- 
lonian fetters sank too deep into the flesh, Babylon 
herself was punished. We may allow the teacher 
of our child a certain measure of chastisement; but 
when we find a lacerated back we say the punish- 
ment has gone too far; the punisher himself must 
suffer punishment. 

God may make a planet in a minute, but he does 
not. The wheels of almighty justice might turn 
quickly, but they do not. With Him a thousand 
years are as a day. 

What is the teaching of history? What is the 
lesson of the recent war? Four hundred and six 
years ago Spain, already great, through Columbus 
took possession of America. Then she became the 
greatest power on earth. Why did she not continue 
great ? In that same year when she became so sud- 
denly enriched, she executed a decree against the 



30 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Jews. Baptism, punishment, or death. Those were 
the conditions and there were no alternatives. The 
consequence? Eight hundred thousand left their 
farms and their town houses, surrendering every- 
thing they could not carry with them, and in grief 
and tears abandoned Spain ; 800,000 skilled artisans, 
educated and professional people — the great middle 
class between the peasant with his ignorance and 
the noble in his idleness — the great divide — the na- 
tion's mountain chain — the spinal column of the 
body politic, which held the two extremes of ig- 
norance and idleness together in a national embrace. 
It left a gap which never has been filled. God 
looked down and saw it. He saw His people wander- 
ing, despoiled of their belongings. He saw them 
camping on their weary way. He saw the weak 
and sickly fainting — some dying on the road. He 
heard their moans. He heard their groans of agony. 
He saw their tears. He heard their prayers. He 
heard all this, and they, too, might have heard, if 
they had had ears to hear, the echoes of commingled 
voices coming through the corridors of fourteen cen- 
turies of time, "his blood be on us and our children/ ' 
but they could not hear, they had not ears to hear. 
Sad! sad! like Spain, they had not ears to hear. 

Whatever else the God of Israel may be or do, He 
does not soon forget. It is 406 years since then — 
a long time for us, not long for Him. Ferdinand and 
Isabella have passed away. The wheels of God's 
justice turn slowly, but — they turn. Little by little, 
Spain's vast possessions in America were lost to her. 
The last of them were wrenched from her even since 



THE JEW. 31 

we met a week ago. Spain, once the greatest of her 
time, as a nation is a wreck. She has not disap- 
peared like Babylon. No, she did not blind her 
captives, she did not pierce the iron to the quick, 
she let the captives go. But she wronged them. 
The wheels of that mysterious power, which forms 
the star from nebula or nothing, turn slowly, but — 
they turn. 



THE DEVIL 

The point on which some members of my class 
took issue with me was the personality of Satan. 
Perhaps I should not have been surprised by this, 
for why should there not be differences in opinion 
about Satan as well as about others? And indeed 
there are. 

Heine, for instance, says of Satan that "he is an 
obliging and charming person/ ' Ben Jonson said, 
"The devil is an ass." Clothed in more elegant 
language,* our own Longfellow calls him "The son 
of mystery/' adding — 

"And since God suffers him to be, 
He, too, is God's minister, 
And labors for some good, 
By us not understood." 

Observe what differences there are in these opin- 
ions! — greater even than in my class. One says 
Satan is an obliging and charming person; another 
that he is an ass ; and still another that he is God 's 
minister, and is laboring for some good. But in all 
of these opinions please observe Satan is everywhere 
a person. Milton and Dante, too, to whom I have 
not referred because they are familiar to you — with 
them also Satan is a person. 

But this was denied by some in my class, and the 
opinion urged that Satan was a principle — an evil 

32 



THE DEVIL. 33 

principle. This raised the question, Is the devil a 
real person, or is he only an evil principle? 

I would remark in the beginning, that much harm 
has been done by the false views of Satan with 
which the world has been deluged. Like the pen- 
dulum, which, from one extreme flies to its opposite, 
so the extravagant descriptions of Satan which have 
commonly obtained have brought about a corre- 
sponding belittling of him by many. And this, to- 
gether with the grotesque pictures of him in the 
comic papers and on the stage, and the wretched 
jokes which thoughtless people make on him, have 
done much to lead to a general disbelief in him. 
But Satan is not a thing of hoofs and tail, not a 
thing to laugh at, and not a being to despise. 

There are few wordy weapons as strong as ridi- 
cule. Horace says (Milton's translation) : 

"Joking decides great things; 
Stronglier, and better, oft, than earnest can." 

You may laugh a man almost out of anything. 
And you may dare a man until he becomes willing 
to encounter almost any danger. You see, it is a 
compliment to our superior knowledge that we know 
that Satan is a myth; and it is a compliment to 
our courage that we are brave enough to face him 
if he is not a myth. So, people with such notions, 
have a lordly smile for Satan, who, they affect to 
think, was only made to frighten naughty children 
and supply a theme for writers of romance. But 
some there are who are not emulous of praise for 
knowing what they do not know; or boastful of a 
willingness to fight an enemy who, at all events, 



34 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

is not in sight. They know that Satan is affirmed, 
is doubted, is denied. They are not seeking con- 
troversy, they simply wish to know the truth. To 
such as they this morning's lesson is devoted. Let 
us, then, divest ourselves of previous notions, and 
let us all this morning — the lame, the halt, the blind 
— in judgment or opinion look through the spec- 
tacles of calm research, if possible, to find the truth. 

Did our Lord believe in a personal devil ? Surely 
He knew, and certainly He seemed to say there was. 
Did He, then, mean what He said, or did He mean 
something else? 

Blackstone says: " Words are generally to be 
understood in their usual and most known signifi- 
cation, and in their general and popular use." Ap- 
plying this rule to the statements of Jesus and the 
writers of the Bible, how can we doubt that they 
believed in the personality of Satan? 

A hundred years ago the wisest man on earth 
could not have told of what those glittering orbs 
that float in space above us are composed. But now 
the high-school boy, taught to decompose their rays 
of light, reads in their separate colors, with unmis- 
taken accuracy, as in a book, the minerals and 
metals of which those worlds were formed. And I 
understand that in so far as those stellar worlds 
have been examined, one by one, the stories told 
by them in glowing letters are much the same; 
and that in those distant worlds no mineral or metal 
has been found that is not also bedded in the world 
which we inhabit. 

Made, then, in substance like our own, is it con- 



THE DEVIL. 35 

ceivable that in all those myriad worlds the plow- 
share does not cut the sod, the hammer does not 
fall upon the anvil, the locomotive is not hissing 
through the forest, and the electric spark has lost, 
or never found, its voice? 

Is it not a moral certainty that these worlds, 
formed of like substances as ours, are peopled by 
intelligence with more or less resemblance to our- 
selves? some groping in a darkness earth has long 
since waded through? some, with attainments we 
may reach in centuries to come? 

Is it impossible to think that none of these have 
sinned ? that some are disembodied spirits (if indeed 
they ever were embodied), and, like us, disinclined 
to goodness? And, with such spirits, hostile to God, 
or disinclined to Him, as we know ourselves to be, 
is it not of all things reasonable, that they should 
have, as men on earth have always had, leaders, 
or princes, or potentates, whom they acknowledge 
and obey? If these are reasonable conclusions do 
we not then find — even within the range of our 
own feeble understandings, and that, too, without 
a Bible or a Christ — that what Jesus taught — an 
entity, a person variously described and variously 
named, but commonly called Satan, or the devil, is 
at least a probability? 

To disbelieve in him because we have not seen 
him, does not make him or unmake him. We have 
not seen the Christ, we have not seen the Holy 
Ghost. Indeed, to disbelieve in Satan proves rather 
his existence; for what else would he have us do 
than disbelieve in him if he really does exist? And 



36 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

there may be a serious question as to the comic 
papers which present him as a laughing-stock — 
who is the real writer of those papers; Satan or 
the men whose names appear upon their title-pages ? 

Perhaps there are few facts which further go to 
prove there is a devil than this, that men are led 
to think there is no devil. For whence could such 
belief arise in face of all the Bible teachings and 
of men's belief in ages past, unless there were a 
devil to create it? Only persuade the little lamb 
that the story of the wolf is fabulous, and that there 
really is no wolf that eats up little lambs, and the 
little lamb becomes an easy prey. 

Some writer wisely says that instinct and intui- 
tion are among our strongest tests of truth; and 
that it is scientifically sure that when an instinct 
is discovered, from its existence we may infer its 
correlate. And he illustrates his proposition by ad- 
ding " Wherever there can be found a fin, there 
must be, or there must have been, a match for it in 
water." May we not add, wherever there is found 
a fear of Satan, there must be, or there must have 
been, a Satan? And where is the nation, race or 
tribe of men — be it civilized or savage — that has not 
only an instinctive dread of such a being, but also, 
a positive belief in him? Some people doubt the 
existence of God. And if you required me to show 
you God I could not do it ; but I think that I could 
show you some of the works of God, and perhaps 
quite as many works of Satan. If the works of God 
will prove a God should not the works of Satan 
prove a Satan? And still, I think it is not that peo- 



THE DEVIL. 37 

pie disbelieve in Satan, but rather that they do not 
quite believe in him. But there is a wide difference 
between disbelieving and not believing. You tell 
me, for instance, that some one has so improved 
the telescope that railroad trains may now be seen 
in motion in the moon. That is a heavy draft on 
my credulity. I do not believe it. Still, as it is just 
possible it may be true, I do not disbelieve it- But, 
you tell me that the moon is made of skim milk 
cheese. I say that is preposterous. Not only do I 
not believe it, I disbelieve it. So, too, people do not 
disbelieve in Satan; the most they do is, they do 
not quite believe in him. 

Some people can believe nothing that they can 
not see or understand. And you remember there 
were not saints enough in all Jerusalem to cause 
Thomas to accept the story of the resurrection until 
he saw the Lord himself. And without the seeing, 
Thomas never would have believed that story to 
his dying day. And there are lots of Thomases in 
this world yet. 

Taking his pipe from his mouth a Cossack chief 
once said to a traveler: "You have been in many 
countries; you have seen much; you must know a 
great deal. Tell me. Some say the world is round ; 
what do you think?" "I think it is," replied the 
traveler. "Then tell me why you think so? What 
are your reasons?" "Well, first, because I have 
been all around it twice myself." I forget his other 
reasons. We have a Baptist preacher in Virginia 
of the colored race who, in spite of science, still 
insists that it is the sun that goes around the world, 



38 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

and not the world that goes around the sun — and 
he will prove it to you. And I think I do not 
hazard much in saying that for every voter you can 
find who thinks there is no devil, I can find you 
forty-nine or fifty who will say the world can not 
be round, and people living all around it; because 
if so, while the people on one side must be heads 
up, the people on the other side must be heads 
down; and stoves and houses, haystacks, steam- 
boats and locomotives must all be upside down. 
And granting they can all stick on by what you 
call the law of gravitation, they still would be 
uncomfortable and start to scrambling up upon the 
upper side. And they will prove their proposition 
by an apple or an orange and two flies. To tell 
some men the world is round, and to tell some other 
men there is a devil, is a dose too strong for their 
credulity. They may not throw it up, but their men- 
tal stomachs can not quite digest it. With minds 
like that of Thomas, they hover on the borderland 
of non-belief and disbelief. 

Some say there is no devil, and yet their strong 
intelligence convinces them there is a something 
which lures men on to wrong, and drags them step 
by step from woe to woe until there is no evil that 
they have not drunk, no depth of crime they have 
not forded. Theft, murder, incest, the cry of help- 
lessness, the wail of broken hearts and ruined homes 
— all these are but fresh baits and new incentives 
in their onward course of ruin. And all this, we are 
told, is not because there is a devil, but because 



THE DEVIL. 39 

there is no devil — only an evil principle abroad upon 
the earth. 

But what is a principle, evil or good? The world 
is full of principles, how do they arise? What more 
can a principle be than an idea — developed? What 
more than a belief that this or that thing is the 
thing to do in any given case? How can a princi- 
ple take the roles of sentient beings? Has a prin- 
ciple a choice of action? It is a principle of physics 
that while all things else contract by cold, water 
expands. Has it not always done so? Will it not 
always do so? Then how can a principle conform 
to every phase of human life and tempt it as we 
know Satan or something does? What is a prin- 
ciple? The Century Dictionary defines principle as 
"a truth which is evident and general. A truth 
comprehending many subordinate truths; a law on 
which other laws are founded and from which oth- 
ers are derived." Aristotle defines it as "a true 
proposition having credit of itself and needing no 
other proof." Locke says: ''Doctrines laid down 
for foundations of any science are called princi- 
ples." Century again: "That which is accepted 
as a law of action or rule of conduct; one of the 
fundamental doctrines or tenets of a system ; a right 
rule of conduct." Macaulay, writing of James Sec- 
ond, says: "The party whose principles afforded 
him no guarantee would be attached to him by in- 
terest." Emerson says: "The man of principle who 
takes the right step uniformly, disdaining conse- 
quences, does not yield, in my imagination, to any 



40 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

These quotations, taken at random from among 
the best writers, are sufficient to show the meaning 
of the word principle in the classics: and, in com- 
mon use we find the meaning is the same. For we 
speak of the principles of morality, the principles 
of mathematics. We speak of the principles of the 
Stoics and the Epicureans, meaning their religious 
beliefs. We say that laws change, but the prin- 
ciples of law and equity remain. It is a principle 
of the Constitution of the United States that all 
men are born free and equal. And it is a principle 
of all constitutional governments that the peasant 
and the prince stand alike before the law. 

The so-called Golden Eule is but an outgrowth 
of an acknowledged principle of right. But the 
Sermon on the Mount involves a principle which 
must have been conceived elsewhere, since it never 
could have found a parentage on earth. 

In any of these definitions and uses of this word, 
do you find that principles think, or plan, or exe- 
cute? But the Bible ascribes all of these powers — 
the power to think, the power to plan and the power 
to execute— to Satan. Where, then, is the identity? 
Where even a resemblance? 

What is a principle but a thought developed? 
And will you please observe the process of develop- 
ment? You have a thought — an idea, if you prefer 
to call it — that a certain thing is wrong. This is 
your thought. Is it correct or incorrect? Just now 
you are not prepared to say. You do not know, 
but you turn it over in your mind. You examine 
it in all its bearings. If incorrect, it is rejected. 



THE DEVIL. 41 

If found correct, it is adopted. When it is adopted, 
it becomes a principle. That is a rule by which all 
acts of that particular kind are measured and passed 
upon. 

Is it not in this way that all of what we now 
recognize as principles of justice have come into 
being? First, the thought; second, the thought ex- 
amined; third, the thought adopted? When thus 
these thoughts have become principles, are they of 
themselves active? No, they can be only passive. 
The bullet in the gun can do no harm unless there 
is a power behind it to propel it. The axe will never 
fell a tree unless there is a power behind to swing 
it. So with the principles of justice. The thief may 
steal and the assassin kill and forever go unpun- 
ished, though the principles of justice are written 
in the statutes and in the hearts of men, unless there 
is a power to execute those principles. There must 
be a force behind the bullet, an arm behind the axe 
and a power to execute the law. 

When here we arrest a man on suspicion for a 
crime committed elsewhere, we examine him — his 
weight and height, the color of his eyes, etc. — to 
see if he tallies with the description sent. If he does 
not tally, we discharge him. The charge here made 
against Satan is that he is an evil principle. Evil, 
I admit; but the indictment is defective. On that 
charge, though not a friend of Satan, I insist the 
case should be dismissed. An evil principle does 
not tally with the descriptions of Satan in the Bible. 

You employed a carpenter to do some work for 
you. How did he do it? With a saw, a plane and 



42 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

hammer. You employed a lawyer to defend you. 
How did lie do it ? He found the principles of law 
applicable to your case and won it. Could the car- 
penter's tools have done the work without the car- 
penter? Could the lawyer's principles have won 
your ease without the lawyer? What, then, is the 
difference between the lawyer's principles and the 
carpenter's tools? Principles and tools, are they not 
alike? — active only in the hands of those who know 
how to use them? 

Then what becomes of the opinion that a princi- 
ple tempts? How can the inert saw or the inactive 
principle tempt? How can either, of itself, do any- 
thing ? Oh, but the saw will cut ? Yes, in the hands 
of the carpenter, and the principle will tempt — in 
the hands of one who knows how to tempt. But 
must there not be some one behind the saw and 
some one behind the principle before either can do 
anything at all? 

" Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.' ' 
Was it because of any new principle of the new 
religion that Agrippa was thus almost persuaded? 
Why, that new religion had been in the world for 
years and Agrippa, as a man of general information, 
may have known as much about it as Paul him- 
self. Was it a principle or the principles of the 
new religion that thus suddenly disturbed the equa- 
nimity of the king ? Was it that ? Or was it because 
Paul, the preacher, skillfully arrayed his principles ; 
and Paul, the artist, played upon the keyboard of 
a sunken conscience and aroused it? Will prin- 
ciples, good principles, alone convert men? Do they 



THE DEVIL. 43 

do so? Can evil principles tempt men to sin? Yes, 
quite as much as good principles can draw men into 
the straight and narrow paths of holiness. 

Some writer has said, " Principles and properties 
exert themselves blindly." That is all that I could 
ask for the position I am trying to maintain, but 
it is too much for me to claim. It is too much for 
truth. Principles and properties do not exert them- 
selves blindly; they do not exert themselves at all. 
Fancy a stone, a property, rolling itself along on a 
level street, or a principle of geometry inventing 
new figures, without a force behind the stone or a 
mind behind the figures. One might just now im- 
agine the principles of government acting a little 
blindly in China, or of being a trifle tired of their 
efforts in the Philippines, if indeed a principle can 
exert itself at all. 

But I am speaking to those who both revere and 
accept the Bible as from God. As to the question, 
Is the devil a person or a principle, observation and 
common sense may teach us much, but the real 
source of knowledge is the Bible. That angels sin- 
ned and fell, is as plainly taught in Scripture as 
is any other fact. In the second chapter of his 
Second Epistle, Peter assumes this to be beyond 
dispute, and in verses 4 and 5 bases on it both 
an argument and warning thus: "For if God 
spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them 
down to hell, . . . and spared not the old 
world, but saved Noah," etc. 

Jude 6th verse positively affirms it thus: "For 
the angels which kept not their first estate but left 



44 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

their own habitation he hath reserved in everlasting 
chains ... to the judgment of the great 
day." If angels have sinned and fallen, is it diffi- 
cult to imagine that one among those fallen angels 
is a chief? 

But look at the passages where Satan himself is 
mentioned. In the 11th chapter of Luke, our Lord 
had been casting out devils, and Luke says (verses 
14, etc.) : "The people wondered. But some of 
them said, He casteth out devils through Beelzebub, 
the chief of the devils." Here, then, we find the 
missing chief. Then our Lord points out the ab- 
surdity of the opinion that He was casting out 
devils "through Beelzebub, the chief of devils." 
"Every kingdom," He says, "divided against itself 
is brought to desolation; and a house divided 
against a house falleth." That is good business 
sense. Every business man understands that. 

Then our Lord goes on : "If Satan also be divided 
against himself, how shall his kingdom stand? Be- 
cause you say that I cast out devils through Beel- 
zebub." 

Now does all of this seem to teach that Satan is 
a person, or that he is an evil principle? But for 
the purpose of seeing how it would sound, and 
what sense it would make, let us try the experiment 
of substituting the words "evil principle" every- 
where in this passage where Satan or Beelzebub ap- 
pear. "The people wondered. But some of them 
said he casteth out devils through the evil princi- 
ple, the chief of the devils. . . . Every king- 
dom divided against itself is brought to desolation; 



THE DEVIL. 45 

and a house divided against a house falleth. If the 
evil principle also be divided against himself (him- 
self? — evil principle masculine?), how shall his 
(masculine again) kingdom stand? Because you 
say that I cast out devils through the evil prin- 
ciple. And if I by the evil principle cast out devils, 
by whom do your sons cast them out?" Does that 
strike you as a fair rendering of the passage? Not 
to think of greater reasons does not the gender 
alone preclude it? 

I open at Eph. 2:2 and read, "Wherein in time 
past ye walked according to the course of this world, 
according to the prince of the power of the air." 
Now, if Paul had stopped there, there might have 
been a possibility of argument — although Paul seems 
not to be giving rhetorical figures just now — that 
Paul used the phrase, prince of the power of the 
air, as a figure of speech, meaning an evil principle. 
But observe how he goes on — "According to the 
prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now 
worketh in the children of disobedience." 

How carelessly we read the Bible, all of us. 
Surely no one who has thought that Satan was only 
an evil principle ever could have read that verse 
attentively. In language that could not be plainer, 
Paul says that the prince of the power of the air 
is a spirit. Can evil principle, can any principle, 
be a spirit? 

In the solitudes of Patmos, John, the last of the 
apostles, writes: "I saw an angel come down from 
heaven having the key of the bottomless pit, and 
a great chain was in his hand. And he laid hold on 



46 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the dragon, that old serpent which is the Devil and 
Satan" (both names given so there could be no 
doubt about the person meant), "and bound him 
one thousand years . . . that he should de- 
ceive the nations no more until the thousand years 
should be fulfilled." 

We can understand how principles may be disre- 
garded and rejected ; but is there any sense or mean- 
ing in the idea of a principle being laid hold of, and 
chained and bound? That which is to be chained 
and bound — must it not be something which is 
entirely different from a principle? 

Rev. 12:9: "And the great dragon was cast out, 
that old serpent called the Devil and Satan, which 
deceiveth the whole world." I ask attention to the 
words "That old serpent called the Devil and Satan, 
which deceiveth the whole world." Here is an ac- 
tive power, a power in action, an intelligent power. 
It deceives. What is it to deceive? Is it not to 
mislead, to lead astray? In religion, and indeed 
everywhere else, is it not to make the false appear 
to be the true ? Does not that require thought, skill 
and effort? And — to deceive the whole world, 
thought and skill and effort suited to the various 
minds that are to be deceived? Are principles to 
be endowed with attributes like these ? One of Des- 
cartes ' so-called unassailable propositions is, "I 
think; therefore I am a person." The Satan of the 
Bible thinks. 

Eph. 6:11. Paul, a prisoner in Rome, writing to 
the church at Ephesus that he had founded, and 
keenly alive to its danger, earnestly exhorts the 



THE DEVIL. 47 

brethren as follows: "Put on the whole armor of 
God that you may be able to stand against the 
wiles of the devil." Did he mean the wiles of an 
evil principle? Are principles addicted to wiles? 

In the parable of the tares, our Lord said it was 
an enemy that sowed them, and that that enemy was 
the devil. Did our Lord know? Do we not know 
from sad experience that that enemy is still sowing 
tares? "He is the tempter, and he put it into the 
hearts of Ananias and Sapphira to lie to the Holy 
Ghost." Here he did something. He put it into 
the hearts of Ananias and Sapphira. Then he did 
it. Can you say he of a principle? Whatever else 
the Scriptures are, they are not ungrammatical. 
Again, "The devil taketh the word out of their 
hearts lest they should believe and be saved." 
Here the devil takes. In the other case he puts. 
Can a principle do either? "Some shall depart from 
the faith giving heed to seducing spirits and the doc- 
trines of devils." Doctrines are teachings. Teach- 
ings must have a teacher. Can principles engage in 
teaching? 

"Devils came out of many crying out, Thou art 
the Christ, the Son of God." Here principles spoke. 
"For this purpose the Son of God was manifested 
that he might destroy the works of the devil." 
Among his works was this: A poor woman was 
afflicted for eighteen years. "A daughter of Abra- 
ham," our Lord said, "whom Satan hath bound." 
I John 3:8: "He that committeth sin is of the devil, 
for the devil sinneth from the beginning." Is the 



48 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

devil a principle? Whoever heard of a principle 
committing sin? 

All of these you recognize as Bible statements. 
Could words be plainer? Why do we believe in the 
personality of the Holy Ghost? Because the Scrip- 
tures everywhere refer to Him as a person. But do 
they not quite as much refer to Satan as a person? 
Why, then, do we accept the personality of the one 
and not the personality of the other? One reason is 
this: Satan is a butt for wags and wits. But our 
Lord once said: "Whosoever speaketh against the 
Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in 
this world nor the world to come." That, then, 
is one reason. Satan may be laughed at; but who 
dares to make jokes upon the Holy Ghost? 

There is a mystery about the Trinity we can not 
fathom. Still no Christian doubts the dogma of the 
three in one. Why? Simply because the Bible 
teaches it. But how much easier to accept the teach- 
ing of a fallen spirit which the Bible also teaches, 
and which presents no difficulty to our understand- 
ing. 

My friends, the non-belief in Satan is fraught 
with danger — danger to the individual, danger to 
the world. It is the thin edge of the wedge which, 
if driven onward, may some time split the social 
log, and in the cleavage may be found the splints 
of anarchy. For, if no devil, then no future punish- 
ment; perhaps no future. With this belief re- 
straints are loosed and free rein given to crime. 
For what has the criminal to fear when there is 
no future to escape, and when a pinch of morphia 



THE DEVIL. 49 

or an ounce of lead will place him beyond the reach 
of justice here. 

I could not sanction the wicked theory that any 
means are justifiable to secure desired ends, and so 
I would not teach a child there is a devil if there 
is none. But, as a French statesman once declared 
in view of the blood and crime in which France had 
sunk herself, "If there is no God we must invent 
one." I dare say, if ever heaven could smile upon a 
falsehood, man's effort to create a devil, if there is 
none, would meet with its approval. 

But, the man who undertakes to prove there is no 
devil has a heavy task before him. He has the 
literature of all nations, the proverbs of the ages, the 
instincts of the soul, and all of the forebodings which 
have followed man from the closed gates of Eden 
to the present time. 

To prove there is no devil, he has all of this to 
meet if he rejects the Bible. He must invent a form 
of human life where temptation is, and yet no 
tempter; a frozen region without cold; a heated at- 
mosphere without a fire or sun — in a word, an effect 
without a cause. If you tell me that the cause of 
all the evil I have seen, of all the tears that darken 
earth, is but a principle, I can not understand it. I 
can not see how a mere principle can do all this. 
But, on the other hand, tell me there is a devil who, 
hostile to all goodness, with a worse than Machia- 
vellian malevolence, defies my God and curses man, 
and though I still can not imagine why our God per- 
mits it, since I see the wrecks of human life on every 
shoal and sand-bar, in every broken troth, in every 



50 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

duty unfulfilled, in every jail and penitentiary — 
while still I cannot understand it — I know that it 
exists. For the truth, though sad and terrible, 
shines forth through every chink and broken shut- 
ter of the wasted lives around me. 

In the Greek Mythology the ring of Gyges ren- 
dered him invisible, and he could move among his 
subjects and hear all they said about him. But the 
ring of Satan has a subtler power. He reads the 
secrets of our hearts and points his arrow in ac- 
cord with them. The Man of Nazareth dulled the 
magic of that ring; the Christ destroyed it, and 
since Golgotha, the invisible is plain in sight and 
you can see it. 

If there is a God, there is a devil. Of this I am 
persuaded. But if there is a devil, there also is a 
Christ. And every nail that held His cross together; 
and every bead of damp gathered on his fainting 
brow ; and every thought and every pang that float- 
ed out from Calvary's strange spectacle upon the 
silent air, pulled out a poison fang from him who, 
with vindictive hate, pursues us day by day, and 
who, with unseemly insolence, once dared assault the 
virtue of the Christ Himself. 



SHALL WE HAVE SHIPS OR SHALL 
WE NOT? 

Editor Marine Review: 

I believe while America leads the world in some 
ways she is to lead the world in all ways. And this 
belief is not the outgrowth of a bigotry whose 
range of view is limited to this horizon, for I was 
born under a foreign flag and with prejudice for 
this. 

But to this expected leadership there is opposed 
one obstacle which neither the resources of the 
nation nor the energy and enterprise of its people 
can, unaided, overcome. That obstacle is America's 
weakness on the sea. While working wonders on 
the land, she is disgracefully conspicuous for her 
insignificance upon the ocean. I will not stop to 
ask the reason why, it is enough that it is sadly 
true. With cheaper building elsewhere, and less 
cost of sailing ships, America cannot compete with 
other nations there. But with our manufactures 
growing faster than our population, what shall we 
do with our surplus? Shall we sell it abroad or 
suffer it to glut and stagnate our home markets? 
This is not only a question of dollars; it is also a 
question of national greatness. 

What gave power to that narrow strip of ground 
between the mountains and the sea we call Phoenicia, 

51 



52 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

and found for her unknown markets for her wares? 
Was it not her ships? 

What but her ships made Carthage famous and 
even lent a splendor to her death ? 

Greece had her Marathon and her Hot Springs; 
but was it not her ships at Salamis, that hurled 
back the largest army earth has ever seen and 
stopped the Persian inundation of a helpless Europe ? 

Rome had her triumphs; but never till her ships 
had found a channel in the sea did she achieve the 
mastery of nations. 

It was a saucy thing to do, but little Holland's 
admiral was justified in nailing to his mast a broom, 
for with her navy and her commerce she then 
swept the seas. Spain's prestige waned as her sea 
power declined. 

Shall we learn no lesson from the past? 

England 's power rests almost wholly on her ships, 
and Germany's observant emperor is building them. 
Both know dominion on the sea is protection to 
the shore. 

Are, then, ships important? The arguments 
against a navy based upon the isolation of America, 
have lost their force. When the Pacific coast was 
inhabited by Indians, it asked for no protection. 
When America had no dependencies few battleships 
were needed. Now, with a coast line of thousands 
of miles, with dependencies remote and even Cuba's 
quarrels to espouse, what can we do without them? 
But how shall we build up a navy without a mer- 
chant service? 

What nation ever did? Even to man our present 



SHALL WE HAVE SHIPS, OR SHALL WE NOT? 53 

war ships we are forced to seek recruits on western 
farms. But how long will it take a farm boy to 
become a sailor? 

Then to have an efficient navy we must have a 
merchant marine. This is plain to see. But how 
shall we procure it? 

We object to subsidies, we are not affectionately 
inclined to bounties or to increased duties. 

But what shall we do? Shall we pay our sailors 
less and feed them worse? This is un-American. 
Shall we ask our ship yards to deliver ships at less 
than cost? This is unreasonable. But it is either 
this or something else, or be content to see our flag 
a stranger on the sea and look for it in vain in 
every foreign port. These are not questions for 
fostering a class. They have to do with every 
class. They touch the interest of every manufac- 
turer, I care not what he makes, and every other 
man. As to commerce, all agree we must find 
outlets for our trade. But how? Trade follows 
ships — always, everywhere. Yes, but what ships? 
Whoever heard of a nation famous for an export 
trade on alien vessels. 

Then, as to the navy. I once met a naval officer 
upon the ocean and over our cigars we fought 
the same battle every day, he for a navy and I 
against it. But that was before we had our war 
with Spain. Now we can no more do without 
a navy than an ordinary city can without police. 
And where is the southern man who will yield to 
any other man in devotion to the flag and determi- 
nation to uphold it? Then, both for commerce and 



54 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

a navy we must have ships. But how are we to 
get them? Buy them abroad? There are serious 
objections to that. Discriminate in duties in favor 
of the flag? That might do if the discrimination 
were not too great. But without rebates apparently 
excessive would dutiable goods produce enough to 
meet the need? 

Then, there is that other way so talked about 
and we have such a horror of subsidies. Yes, sub- 
sidies are bad. War is bad, too. But if others 
make war upon us, must we not fight? Why should 
we not defend our commerce as well as our coasts? 
If it is wisdom in others to subsidize, why should 
it not be wise for us? They have had experience 
and we have not, and they continue it. I have 
somewhere read of a savage chief, who objected to 
the white man's way of fighting, that it was not 
fair. And because the white man, not content to 
fight with bows and arrows, would make war with 
guns and bullets, the savage must have guns and 
bullets, too. Perhaps upon that principle we too 
must subsidize. Of course subsidies will cost us 
something. Investments always do. We invested 
in Louisiana and lately in Alaska. Commonly, I 
think our national investments turn out well. 

But I do not care for methods. Those whose 
business it is to see to such things will doubtless 
take the best. Only let us be proud of our country 
and strive to live up to her great destiny. This is 
all I ask. Let our flag be touched by every Arctic 
breeze and let it be afloat on every southern water. 
Self respect and a decent regard for our position 



SHALL WE HAVE SHIPS, OR SHALL WE NOT? 55 

among nations demand this of us. The difference 
is too great, the contrast is too marked, between 
America upon the land and America upon the sea. 

The glories of the past were written in the smoke 
of devastated homes and the mangled remnants of 
humanity. The triumphs of America must be in- 
scribed in peace, prosperity and trade; but these 
must be promoted and protected by the flag. 

I have been in places that the world calls famous, 
and in palaces of kings; but no place ever thrilled 
me as, standing on the summit of the Campanile, 
I knew I stood upon the spot where Galileo turned 
the first rough telescope toward the skies. But as 
I think of it, it seems to me that somewhere in the 
future I can see another Campanile and another 
Galileo with telescope swung out upon the seas 
where floats pre-eminent in grandeur and magnifi- 
cence the ensign of the great republic. 

Shall we then have ships, or shall we not? 
THEODORE HARRIS, 
President Louisville National Banking Co., 

Louisville, Ky. 



SUCCESS. 

LECTURE DELIVERED BEFORE THE LOUISVILLE 
COLLEGE OF PHARMACY. 

The wish to acquire is not alone confined to man, 
but to some extent is shared by lower animals and 
notably by insects. The dog, for instance, will some- 
times hide a bone. The bee lays up for winter. The 
beaver builds a house. But when this is done the 
beaver's love of acquisition stops. In man alone in- 
heres a wish for something more. He is not content 
to build a home, or to provide a store for winter. 
Unlike the animal that eats its fill and then con- 
tentedly lies down to sleep, man eats and then 
picks up the thread he had laid down and hurries 
on. Man wishes to acquire. It may be wealth; it 
may be knowledge ; it may be fame ; it may be but 
a modest competence and the respect of those 
around him; but it must be something. Man must 
acquire. For not to acquire is not to succeed, and 
no man is willing to have it said of him that he is 
unsuccessful. 

I have, however, heard of one , exception to this 
rule, — a man who was content with what he had and 
had no wish for anything besides. And he was 
much sought for too. For it had happened that an 
Oriental King had fallen ill of some disease which 
had baffled the skill of all his physicians. And he 

56 



success. 57 

might have died of it if it had not been that a sage 
just then came by who truly diagnosed the case 
and wrote out his prescription in plain vernacular. 
The only thing to cure the king, he said, was to 
wear the shirt of a contented man, and without that 
the king would surely die. 

It would seem as though that was a prescrip- 
tion easy to be filled and a messenger was sent out 
to bring in such a man, but he returned without 
him. More messengers were sent. The entire city 
was searched 1 , but searched in vain. Then other 
cities. Then the kingdom. And other kingdoms 
lent their aid. And all this time the King was 
suffering. At last the joyful news was heard. The 
contented man was found. But — alas! He had no 
shirt. So far as I can see throughout this audi- 
ence, young gentlemen, you all wear shirts. That 
means to me that you are not quite contented with 
the present, but that you have erected ladders in 
your visions of the future which you mean to climb 
— and that is right. 

When the youth reaches manhood and looks 
round him — in all directions — the doors of honora- 
ble occupation stand wide open. Now he must 
choose. And, having chosen, then begins the strug- 
gle. 

Now this struggle may have either of two objects. 
It may be to succeed, or it may be to surpass. But 
these have widely different meanings and both are 
natural to man. Like the waters of a river, some 
of which give aid to life as they flow on, while some 
go madly by to mingle in the turbulence of ocean's 



58 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

billows, the desire to succeed and the desire to 
surpass are not alike in their objectives. 

The desire to succeed is always right. The desire 
to surpass is often wrong. And yet, if to surpass 
means to surpass in benefaction and thereby live in 
the memory and esteem of future ages, it is noble. 
But when, in ruthless recklessness — deaf to the wid- 
ow's wail and blind to the tears of orphanage, it 
overrides and fiercely crushes any and all obstacles 
— then, to surpass is wrong. 

Both of these dispositions lie buried in the soul 
of man. The latter is doubtless that which Shakes- 
peare had in mind when he wrote — 

''Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away am- 
bition. 
By that sin angels fell." 

This element in man's nature, when it is success- 
ful, makes what the world calls great men — but 
never happy ones. Supported by ability, sometimes 
it builds empires. But it brooks no opposition, nor 
can it bear to share success with others. It must 
stand alone, and it must stand supreme. 

The other disposition, the desire simply to 
succeed, is illustrative of the well-known maxim, 
"Live and let live." It would not tear down its 
neighbor's business oi* his barns; but smiles upon his 
neighbor's efforts and grudges not success to him. 
It struggles in the current of affairs, but has no 
word of hate for him who gathers from the freshet 
more than he himself can land. 

It chases butterflies in childhood, grapples with 
life 's problems in maturity and never altogether dis- 



success. 59 

appears in age. Unlike ambition, it does not rob 
the soul of feeling. It craves not the defeat of 
others, but only seeks the utmost for itself. It is 
often with ambition, hand in hand, but often is 
estranged from it. It knows no sleepless vigils for 
renown, but often robs its devotee of rest in efforts 
to do good to others. In its daily acts it has no 
dazzling brightness. It is not like the meteor or 
like the midday sun; but rather like the quiet twi- 
light. Not the electric blaze, rather the steady burn- 
ing candle. It is the unnoticed and unseen motion 
which daily, steadily and healthfully progresses, but 
in the end wins praise. It is the silent force that led 
a Rawlinson to find an alphabet in arrowheads ; that 
impelled George Smith to search the bowels of the 
earth and bring to light the literature of ages — be- 
fore the pyramids were built; before the forgotten 
Hittites were an empire; before the Egyptian prin- 
cess found a floating cradle and thereby laid a con- 
tribution on the gratitude of nations then unborn. 
The desire to succeed? It was the stimulus to 
the poor druggist's 'prentice boy, who, with a pen- 
ny's worth of bread, spent his dinner hour in study, 
and learned to bend the gauze around the miner's 
lamp. And who will go down the ages, honored 
more by that, than by the Queen who knighted him. 
For what mere tinsel garnishment of title can 
add a lustre to the name of Humphry Davy, whom 
every miner's wife has taught her child to bless. 
The desire to succeed? To you, young gentlemen, 
who have the wide, wide world before you, it is an 
inspiration. It builds a fire in every human heart; 



60 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

it throbs in every pulse beat. It is no victim of 
imaginative fancy; but finds a flower in every bulb, 
a wave in every stagnant water, a blade of grass 
in every arid plain. It sees a sunbeam in the timid 
dawn, and behind the overhanging cloud, discerns 
a golden sunset. It sees the wheels of commerce in 
the waterfall. It holds before the toiler the mantle 
of renown, and gilds the distant peaks of industry 
with the glory and the gladness of success. And in 
all these varied scenes and shiftings — as an under- 
current gulf stream — runs the impulse to do good. 
Here are no promptings of ambition — here are no 
efforts to pull down, only the inspiration of an hon- 
orable desire to succeed. 

But success does not fall upon one's shoulders 
like the rain upon the grass, nor is it often like the 
lightning's flash. It is more like the motion of our 
solar system which, they tell us, slowly winds its 
way around some distant centre which the mysteries 
of God's starry heavens have not yet disclosed. And 
yet it does somewhat resemble the quick tick, tick 
of the clock, whose momentary monitors of time's 
flight we disregard, but whose slowly measured 
strokes remind us of the passing hours. 

True, among the many interesting stories of that 
greatest of all story books, the Bible, a slave boy 
once, and from a prison, at one swift bound, became 
the ruler of the greatest nation of its time ; but that 
was some four thousand years ago, and it has not 
happened since. 

He who it is said wept because there were no 
other worlds to conquer, inherited a crown, and was 



SUCCESS. 61 

therefore born to greatness. That great modern 
master of statesmanship and war, who re-gilt the 
throne of France, and from the smoke of his artil- 
lery wove a glamour round the empire and himself, 
climbed the steep ways and reached his giddy height 
by long and rapid strides ; but the upward course is 
commonly a rough one, and most of us will falter in 
the effort if we make it, and resting at the first 
landing place, will linger there, content to die with 
neither thrones nor crown, nor even common daisies 
to droop above our coffins. 

I would not be discouraging, but, I take it, that 
most of you who hear me — like the speaker — were 
not born to greatness. And that whatever you may 
win in that direction, shall not be the greatness of 
inheritance or genius, but such as may result from 
your own unaided efforts. Success may bind its 
laurels on the brow of genius ; but commonly it fol- 
lows only in the footsteps of hard work. 

I have no magic mirror in which to read your 
future, but it seems probable that many of you will 
be clerks, and from that fundamental platform of 
a common business life, step upwards. If so, it may 
be well for you to contemplate your future from 
that standpoint. And in view of that permit me 
to say that, whatever of truth there may be in that 
well-known maxim that the boy is father to the man, 
there is much more in this, — the clerk is father to 
the master. 

For the faithful clerk there is always a place. 
And, assuming the requisite qualifications of knowl- 
edge and deportment, if I were to lay down a rule 



62 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

more nearly certain than any other to insure a 
clerk's success, I should say, think first of your em- 
ployer's interest, and afterwards, your own. I have 
never known a clerk who did this to be without a 
place; and in the end, to fail to find promotion, if 
not a partnership. 

The life work you have chosen, trenches hard upon 
one of the most fascinating of all studies. Nature, 
though silent, is ever friendly to those who would 
come close to her, and smiles on those who would 
interrogate her. To penetrate her mysteries — that 
is to get near to God. For to synthesize and an- 
alize — that is what God does. Behold, then, all 
around you, the fields of chemistry inviting your at- 
tention, with no forbidden trees ; but full permission 
to pluck all fruits whose branches hang within your 
reach. True, those fields have many a time been 
plowed and harrowed; but many a nook has been 
unsearched, and many a flower been overlooked, and 
to the gleaner there is rich reward. 

With the ancients, air and water, those great needs 
of man, were elemental. Later, the world found out 
these were not elements, but were made up of cer- 
tain gasses and these were elements. But what if 
some industrious investigator shall some day give 
the world another lesson in that mysterious science 
and before your eyes shall decompose your oxygen, 
your nitrogen and your hydrogen. Who shall say 
that is impossible? 

When I was young, all that was then known of 
analine dyes might be compressed within the limits 
of a school boy's book shelves. Now, I am told, the 



success. 63 

books upon that subject would fill a library. Time 
has torn out the leaves of school books I once read 
and placed in leaves instead that had not then been 
printed. What shall the end be? Nature, still coy, 
and still elusive, still beckons to the diligent and 
earnest student. She still has secrets to disclose. 
And what so charming as to talk with her — to fol- 
low her in all her wayward wanderings and win 
from her the trophies of success. 

I have but little faith in genius, unless it be the 
genius of hard work. Of course, much is always due 
to opportunity. But Mr. Lincoln was not a great 
and successful man because he was president of the 
United States. Kather, he was president because he 
was successful. See him at 21, going on foot as 
many miles as he was years old to borrow an Eng- 
lish grammar. Then read his speeches. How did he 
acquire so lucid and so flexible a style? But, as 
to that, how did he acquire anything ? He drank the 
bitter aloes of toil and tears and sweat; but with 
them, drained the goblet of success. 

The man on whom the presidential mantle fell 
when the assassin's bullet gave the great soul of 
Lincoln rest was bred a tailor. Not Burke, not 
Choate, or Webster. Would you see a masterpiece 
of literature and logic, not surpassed by Froude, or 
Gibbon, or Macaulay? Read the speech of Andrew 
Johnson in the United States Senate against seces- 
sion. 

But it may be said that the achievements of those 
two remarkably successful men were due to the pe- 
culiar circumstances of their time — that they were 



64 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the natural progeny of great events — and there is 
something in that. But, whatever opportunities 
those great events created — were they not equally 
open to all men of their time ? 

A careful reading of their lives reveals no flash 
of genius, only the genius of hard work. It is in 
that long tramp of one and twenty miles to see an 
English Grammar — it is there I find the key to the 
success of Lincoln — there, and in one thing more — 
his stern integrity. It was not only in his unyield- 
ing struggles to know, but also in his stern determi- 
nation to be right. And this was perhaps equally 
characteristic of both. Doubtless when they were 
elected there were men more able — certainly there 
were men more learned, and in their own party, too. 
But other men more learned were politicians, and 
the times demanded men of known unswerving char- 
acter. What then, are the lessons taught by the 
lives of Lincoln and Johnson ? They are two. That 
struggle and integrity are rewarded by success. 
Not always by the same measure, but always by suc- 
cess. 

If any man might boast of genius, • surely that 
great American, Mr. Edison, might do so, and to 
genius his great discoveries are commonly attributed. 
But when I saw him in his laboratory it was sun- 
down. He had worked all that day, all the night 
before and all the day before, in tireless disregard 
of sleep or rest. And as he stopped to talk to me, 
he nibbled at his breakfast, still uneaten, that a 
thoughtful wife had sent to him that morning. 
Added to his enormous capacity for work, is his 



success. 65 

great power of observation which lets no new fact 
escape. To this is due one of his late inventions. 
For in one of his experiments he thought he heard 
an echo of a word he had just spoken. Too busy 
then to follow up the clue, he laid the fact aside 
for future use. The result was, that new wonder, 
the Phonograph. In indolence and ease we find no 
Edisons. The coronet which rests upon the brow of 
toil, and everywhere ennobles manhood, is still a 
crown of thorns. 

Bacon says, "when nature makes a flower or a 
living creature she forms the rudiments of all the 
parts at one time. ,, Perhaps the rudiments of all 
great things exist in undeveloped form in every 
man. But if you were looking for a high degree of 
mental qualities in statesmanship and war you would 
hardly hope to find them in the quiet of farm and 
in the person of a farmer, who, at the age of 42 
had shown no taste for one and certainly no apti- 
tude for either. 

And yet, in such a life as this (one of the most 
picturesque of the world's Valhalla of great men) 
these great qualities were found. And out of them 
arose England's greatest generals, certainly her 
greatest and most successful ruler — perhaps the most 
misunderstood and most abused in English history. 
But for the events which called him forth he would 
have remained unblamed, unheard of and unknown ; 
content to feed his flocks, and live and die in qui- 
etude and peace. But God had other work for him. 
The king had trampled on the constitution. Abso- 
lutism reigned and liberty was dead. But the Eng- 



66 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

lish were a chosen people, and the horologe of time 
had struck the hour of their deliverance. Only a 
Moses must be found to lead them forth. The man- 
tle fell on Cromwell. He faltered at the burning 
bush and shrank away from it. But, trembling, 
took the rod held out to him, which, in his hand, 
became a sword. 

Entering the great theatre of war in ignorance 
of the simplest elements of a military education, 
fighting his way up, step by step, from the captaincy 
of a company of raw militia to be the Commander 
in Chief of England 's armies, he never lost a battle. 
But Cromwell fought with sword in one hand and 
the Bible in the other and his army marched to the 
rhythm of the Psalms. And when at night the soldier 
drew his blanket round him, it was not until the 
benediction had been spoken. And the hallow of 
the tent where God had met his saints, still linger- 
ing in his memory, passed on into his dreams, an 
inspiration for the morrow. 

England would have done wisely to have read 
anew this one chapter in her own history before 
she sent an army to the Transvaal. For, while its 
entire Boer population and that of the Orange Free 
State, also, was in 1894 less than the population of 
our own city, behind each Boer soldier is a praying 
wife or mother and close by each Boer's bayonet is 
a Boer's Bible, and it is hard to kick against such 
pricks as these. 

Until the time of Cromwell, England had not at- 
tained great influence among the nations. But un- 
der the guidance of this monarch of the plow, this 



success. 67 

new Pharaoh of shepherd kings, whose eyes were 
everywhere and whose energies projected into every- 
thing, surrounding nations soon discovered, that not 
only England had a master, but they themselves had 
also. 

In the South of France the Huguenots were driv- 
en from their homes or massacred by thousands. 
News traveled slowly then, but the rumor came to 
Cromwell. His guns had already tranquilizer the 
Mediterraneans, the reverberations of their thunder 
had reached the ear of France. The Huguenots? 
He heard their cry of pain, he raised his finger, 
France took the hint. The desolation of the Vaudois 
was stopped. The Huguenots remained and wor- 
shipped God in their own unlettered way. 

When Cromwell rested in his winding sheet he 
left to England a government of right, of liberty and 
justice which England still remembers, and you and 
I and all other English-speaking people have in- 
herited. And all of these achievements — from the 
Captain of Militia to the Lord Protector and the 
funeral at Whitehall were compressed within the 
short space of sixteen years. 

It was fitting that a life like his should end in 
some unusual way. And in the turbulence of a 
storm that lashed the rock bound parapets of that 
little island which has been to many a source of 
pride, but to some a symbol of oppression, but in 
the main a gift of God to liberty and man ; and in the 
midnight and the darkness of that storm, in the 
thunder and the flash of heaven's artillery, the 
great soul of Cromwell, master of statesmanship and 



68 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

war, having achieved the highest measure of success 
passed out into the great unknown. 

But, to cite instances of great success in times of 
great upheaval, or in things in which you have no 
interest, may be a waste of time. In times like ours, 
men come and go without a ripple on the sea of life, 
so smooth is it. Then, too, young gentlemen, you 
must not measure yourselves by other great men of 
another time, or feel discouraged if you do. For 
other great men have been the children of great 
events and you have not had so fortunate a parent- 
age. 

And after all, greatness is a fickle mistress. Many 
a Beethoven has died behind a plow and many a 
great general has rolled up blue mass at $5 a week ; 
or perhaps blacked the shoes of those who rolled it 
up. So far as we can see, if there had been no 
war, Gen. Grant would have died a clerk in the 
leather store at Galena and perhaps no great things 
of a clerk either. For not only in pharmacy, but in 
other things as well, success is a resultant of the 
combination of two or more circumstances or forces. 
And as our times are not productive of forces out 
of which great men are made, I fear that you, young 
gentlemen, must curb the strivings of your souls and 
be content with quiet and prosaic lives. 

I have no doubt your souls will often pant for 
glory at the cannon's mouth. The souls of young 
men always do. But the mortar of the prescription 
room is a safer thing to handle than the mortar of 
the battery. And while the cannon ball may move 
more swiftly, it is not a whit more roundly shaped 



success. 69 

than the pills you will be called on to put up, and, 
perhaps, not much more deadly. So, in the profes- 
sion you have chosen, you will be brought face to 
face with danger, if not to yourselves to other people. 
And this should satisfy the longings of your souls. 
You have chosen an honorable pursuit and I under- 
stand you have great teachers. For this you should 
be grateful. 

I suppose, if I were endowed with supernatural 
power to tell you how you might be rich, or how 
you might do good, but that I was not permitted to 
disclose both secrets, with one voice you would de- 
mand that I should show you how you might be 
good. That you had no desire for wealth ; riches and 
greatness had no attraction for you; and if they 
had, that you could acquire them without my aid, 
and you only wished to know how you might be 
good. 

Well, there is no magic lotion, either for wealth 
or goodness. The ancients sought to turn base 
metals into gold, but failed in the attempt. But your 
professors can teach you that. For instance, in the 
various derivatives and compounds of iron. And not 
only metals, but also in other things. How vast the 
phenomena of transmutation, and how quickly and 
how beautifully the art of pharmacy transmutes 
cheap substances into gold. 

I was particularly struck with this one day as I 
was waiting in a drug store. A gentleman came 
in, evidently in great haste. Throwing a prescrip- 
tion on the counter he wished to know if he might 
wait for it or if he must come again. The druggist 



70 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

glanced at it, and so did I — I could not help it. 
It was right before my eyes. The obliging pharma- 
cist told him he could have it in a few moments, 
and he did. The prescription read, sodium chloride, 
Aqua pura, nothing else. Quantities I do not now 
remember. How much? Fifty cents, please; thank 
you. As he was about to retire, prompted by Satan, 
or a wicked curiosity, the gentleman drew the cork 
and tipped the bottle to his lips. Then, looking at 
the druggist (I thought reproachfully), Why that 
tastes like salt. Yes, said the obliging druggist, I 
reckon it does taste a little kinder salty. If that 
was not a transmutation into gold it was a trans- 
mutation into silver. I am very sure of that because 
I saw the silver paid for it. And what more could 
the old Alchemists have asked. 

By the by, that was before the age of cut throat 
drug stores. Perhaps the price of salt and water is 
now a shade or two reduced. 

Of the prescriptions you are called on to put up, 
to be well shaken before taken, you may sometimes 
think it is the doctor himself who should be shaken 
rather than the medicine. But, your business is to 
put up and shut up, whatever you may think. It 
may be a question whether, if there had been many 
more doctors than there were the race would have 
survived. But the public has its revenge, the doc- 
tors die too. 

But doctors really do mean to save life and some- 
times come very near doing it, too. An instance of 
this occurred recently in Arizona where, it is said, 



SUCCESS. 71 

horse stealing is the greatest crime upon the calen- 
dar. 

The prisoner sent for his lawyer to know how he 
could have his trial postponed, and was told, by get- 
ting a doctor's affidavit to his illness. And with 
the assistance of the lawyer, this affidavit, gleam- 
ing in the rhetoric of science, was accordingly ob- 
tained. Its last sentence read, "And the said de- 
ponent verily believes that if the epigastrium of the 
said Thompson shall be compelled to stand trial at 
this term of court, he will be in imminent danger 
of long confinement and possibly in peril of his life." 
The learned judge upon the bench said he greatly 
feared that might be true and ordered the trial to 
proceed. 

A belief has unfortunately found its way into the 
world that a certain amount of deception is neces- 
sary in business, and to this extent deception is ex- 
cusable. I wonder when the world will learn bet- 
ter, for it is a great mistake. Tricks of trade, as 
they are called, are still tricks. And they who prac- 
tice them, if not found out, become suspected, and 
-what follows? Little by little trade leaves the sus- 
pected man, and he wonders why. 

One of the greatest of Americans announced a 
truth which, though it has never been denied, one 
might think it had never been believed. It was no 
new truth, but he put it in a pithy saying which 
shall never be forgotten until the English language 
ceases to endure — "Honesty is the best policy.' ' 

Adam ate forbidden fruit and lost his Eden; and 



72 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

men have lost their Edens ever since in that old 
familiar way. 

And it is not done in ignorance ; there is no need 
of information on that point. That which man's 
own judgment tells him should not be is always a 
forbidden fruit. All men of common sense do know 
that the maxim of Ben Franklin is the surest path- 
way to success and only their cupidity and hope 
of luck can induce departure from it. 

There may be dullards who cannot tell a stove 
pipe from a smoothing iron, but bright men of ques- 
tionable practices all know the worth of character. 
I was amused one day to hear that one who is well 
known to be a common cheat and who is not ashamed 

of it, said, If I had the reputation of Mr. , a 

well known man, since dead, I could make a fortune. 
And I think he could. He is a smart fellow in his 
way, so long as the reputation lasted. 

Of course, difference in manners, in industry, in 
mental capacity, and in many other things must 
entail corresponding differences in results. But, 
given all of these things equal, and two men, alike 
in age, side by side in the same business, one tricky 
and the other honest, while the tricky one may seem 
to be more prosperous for a time, the honest man 
will overtake and pass him, if for no other reason 
than this, that while the one is gaining public con- 
fidence, the other one is gradually losing it. But 
this leaves out of the account all of those things 
which go to make the real success in life, the respect 
of others ; and above this, one 's self-respect, without 
which it were better that the man had not been born. 



success. 73 

And yet, I do not mean to say all honest men will 
be successful. A man must be a gentleman besides. 
When Alexander visited Diogenes, and desirous of 
being useful to him said, "What can I do for you, 
Diogenes? 7 ' and Diogenes, who was just then en- 
gaged with some abstruse problem, exclaimed, "Get 
out of my light, you are in my light/ ' Diogenes, 
with all his learning, in this short speech confessed 
himself a fool. And I think I risk but little in the 
statement that if Diogenes were living now and had 
a signboard out as a retail druggist, whatever of 
success he might obtain in selling lanterns, as a re- 
tail druggist now in Louisville he would be majestic 
as a failure. 

If, then, other things being equal, to be honest is 
to be successful it ought to follow that success is 
but a measure of integrity, that success is 
the great crucible that separates the silver from the 
dross — the litmus paper, which in business, blushes 
into redness only when in contact with untruth. 
And this is the rule, but, like all other general rules, 
has honorable exceptions. But, upon the other 
hand, it is only right for me to say that in all my 
long business life I have only known two dishonest 
men who seemed to be successful, and they are not 
yet dead. 

Shakespeare, like Diogenes, thought no man was 
honest. Thus he makes Hamlet say, "What's the 
news?" "None, my Lord, but that the world's 
grown honest." "Then is doomsday near." 

Again in the same play he writes, "Ay, sir. To be 
honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked 



74 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

out of two thousand." If this be true, young gen- 
tlemen, be each of you that one man. 

I feel sorry for those who think there are no 
honest men. And they must pardon me if I feel 
a little suspicious of them too. 

Some men boast of a rule which they think safe — 
to treat all men as dishonest until they find them 
honest. Saying nothing of the absurdity of a rule 
which would require a lifetime to prove, I would 
not advise that, nor would I advise the converse of 
it. If in your dealings with the world you will 
transact your business on well-known business prin- 
ciples, while you may occasionally suffer from dis- 
honesty you will never suffer much. And when in 
your dealings with men you find one here and there 
dishonest have no further dealings with him. There 
is a saying in the world (and it has been said so 
often it has passed into a proverb) that every man 
has his price. Do not believe it. It is a base false- 
hood. It may be true of those who say it, but I can 
find men — and some, too, in this audience — whom 
the world is neither big enough nor rich enough, 
with all its coffers and its crowns, to dull their 
moral sensibilities; much less, to lure their feet 
across the line that marks the boundary of business 
honor and dishonor. 

In my earlier business life I sometimes wondered 
why certain men were always unsuccessful. No 
matter what they tried, and however promising it 
might appear, they always failed. So far as I could 
see there was no reason for it. Sometimes, indeed, 
the man appeared to have unusual advantages. Of 



SUCCESS. 75 

course, where drink, dishonesty or indolence were 
seen, or boorish manners, the cause was obvious. 
But what about those cases where no apparent cause 
existed ? 

Mr. B. was a marked example of this kind. 
Handsome in form and feature and agreeable in 
manners to an unusual degree, tireless in industry, 
abstinent in all respects, even-tempered and liked 
by everybody, with a fair capital of his own and a 
wife with large inheritance and influential family 
connections, and with what seemed to be a pros- 
perous business on Main Street, — I thought him the 
most fortunate of men. With all of these advant- 
ages he failed, — failed and lost all he had and 
much also of his wife's. Years afterwards it hap- 
pened that he undertook some work for me. To my 
surprise I found that while he seemed to be a man 
of sense he had no conception of a common business 
contract; nor could I teach him common prudence 
or exactitude. The reason of his failure was now 
clear. The mystery was explained. Poor fellow, 
he had worked hard — harder than most men I have 
known. But success in business is seldom realized 
by careless business practices. 

While, then, honesty and industry are the main 
pathways to the business man's success, it does not 
follow that all honest and industrious men will be 
successful. 

Mr. H. was another marked instance of this 
truth. He also was a Main Street merchant. Cor- 
rect in all his habits, enjoying the respect of all who 
knew him, he had been so many years in business 



76 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

that in the changes which are constantly occurring 
one after another of his partners had left him and 
he now found himself alone. 

He wanted a partner with a certain amount of 
capital and one soon appeared. References being 
satisfactory an agreement was soon made by which 
the newcomer should enter the house with a half 
interest in the business. But, as a prudeut thing to 
do, he suggested the propriety of first looking 
through the books, not doubting, however, that 
everything was just as represented. 

" Certainly,' ' said Mr. H., "I could not have you 
do otherwise. ' ' And so saying Mr. H. led his new ac- 
quaintance to the office, with directions to his book- 
keeper to give free access to everything and full 
information on all points, and, having done this, left 
the office to give attention to waiting customers. 

In a few days, the examination having ended, the 
two gentlemen met again for conference. 

"Well," said Mr. EL, "I understand you have gone 
through the books?" "Yes, sir, I have." "And 
found everything correct?" "Found everything 
correct." "And you are fully satisfied?" "Fully 
satisfied." Then when will it suit you to begin. 
"I shall not begin." "What, not begin? I thought 
you wanted to come into the house?" "I did, but, 
Mr. H., you're broke." "Broke, — what do you 
mean?" "I mean that you are broke. You are a 
blamed fool." 

And sure enough, in sixty days thereafter Mr. H. 
was in bankruptcy. His books had been well kept, 
but he did not know what was in them. Probably 



SUCCESS. 77 

because he was constantly occupied in the selling 
department, he had never once examined them. 
This was a great mistake. To succeed one should 
not only have his books well kept, but he should 
also be familiar with them. 

But speaking of books and of book-keeping, a 
great mistake is often made in this connection. A 
man has failed. He seeks to compound with his 
creditors. And often he is complimented in the 
courts and in the papers on the correctness and 
completeness of his books. But if, unlike Mr. H., he 
is a competent accountant, he has surely known he 
was insolvent, and he has knqwn it long, for in- 
solvency is seldom like an avalanche. In most 
cases, where such men get credit for the complete- 
ness of their books, analysis would show that for 
long before their failure their capital was gone, and 
their lives thereafter were a daily systematic fraud 
upon the world. 

Mr. W. was quite another type of non-success. 
He took no languid interest in business, as many 
seem to do, nor was he a frequenter of clubs or 
social gatherings. On the contrary, his whole mind 
was occupied with business and to every opportunity 
of trade he was keenly alert. He knew how many 
hogs were killed by every slaughter-house in Ameri- 
ca and how much pork and lard the nations of the 
earth consumed, how much wheat the world required 
and how much was raised by Europe, India, Argen- 
tine and America, and therefore what prices scarcity 
of any of those great commodities must necessarily 
entail. 



78 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

His figures were probably about correct. With 
his great breadth of study of the world's produc- 
tions and the world's great needs he ought to have 
succeeded. Of course his plan was to buy in times 
of scarcity and hold for higher prices. 

But he overlooked one fact — that while in many 
forms of merchandise increase in price may be in 
ratio with decreased production, in foods a great 
increase in price of any one particular form only 
drives the teeming millions of earth's poor to the 
use of other forms less costly. Overlooking this 
important fact, or making scant allowances for it, 
his calculations always failed — and he failed, too. 

But I must cease to give you individual facts 
or I shall never close. The observations of a long 
and busy life yield full materials for a lecture 
course and what I have to say must be compressed 
within the lecture of tonight. 

When you go into business for yourselves choose 
your banker. Make him your adviser and your 
confidant and you will seldom need a lawyer. The 
general principles of business I have assumed that 
they were understood, and only sought to prove 
their value by presenting types of failure from neg- 
lect of them. The highway of success is marked 
by the cartwheels and the footsteps of the past. 
The improvements of the present are but attach- 
ments to the old tried ways, as the railway is a 
gain upon the stage coach, while the latitude and 
longitude remain the same. You may begin, young 
gentlemen, as druggists or as druggists' clerks, but 
some of you shall become wholesale merchants. 



success, 79 

When you do, sell your goods for cash or bills re- 
ceivable. Men will tell you that is not the course 
of trade, and it is not always, but it is the highway 
to success. 

The town was shocked one day when the news 
came out that L. & Co. had failed. If the debts due 
to them had been closed by notes, banks would 
have given them the money for them and they would 
have gone through. But accounts upon their books 
were neither goods that they could sell for cash, 
nor notes that could be discounted. They were, 
not worthless assets, but they were unrealizable 
assets and worthless in the emergency that had sud- 
denly overtaken them. 

The opportunities of trade are greater now than 
they have ever been, and the prospect is they will 
be greater still. Before the time of railroads it 
cost $4.50 to send a barrel of flour from Louisville 
to Lexington. Now that same barrel may be sent 
from Louisville to London or Amsterdam or Bremen 
for the price a cartman would charge to bring it 
from the Ballard mills to your own door — say 30 
to 35 cents. The wires, on which the commerce of 
the world depend, are at your beck and call. The 
prices of your corner grocery are not more open 
to you than the market rates of London and Ber- 
lin. 

As retail druggists you may think that you will 
have but little use for wires. But who knows what 
the retail druggist may become? 

That great genius of trade (there is a genius) 
that gift of God to man, Carnegie, who spends his 



80 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

wealth in benefactions, was once a bobbin boy and 
happy in the income of two dollars per week. 

Carnegie? God send the world some more Car- 
negies. If you have not read his "Triumphant De- 
mocracy" you have a pleasure yet in store for you, 
and, in a single book, a knowledge of your country 
requiring months of effort otherwise to obtain. Its 
three or four-line dedication is both a poem and an 
inspiration. And, let me add, while not intend- 
ing it, this book will have more influence in under- 
mining thrones and making manhood paramount 
to titles than any other book the printing press has 
given to the world. It is only a book? Yes, but 
the "Impending Crisis" was only a pamphlet. It was 
only a wee, wee stream that undermined the dam at 
Johnstown. But it undermined it. 

Speaking of Carnegie's book reminds me to con- 
gratulate you on your entry into business life in 
a century so full of promise to America. A hundred 
years ago America exported nothing but tobacco. 
Later we sent out wheat and cotton. But cloths, 
silks, china, hardware, calicoes and all other manu- 
factured goods were bought abroad. We bought 
from Europe everything and sold to Europe scarce- 
ly anything. If we wanted to build a railroad we 
bought the rails in Europe and borrowed the money 
there to pay for them and to build the road. If 
our government needed money it was to Europe we 
must go to get it. Of course the balance of trade 
was against us. Europe held our bonds — govern- 
ment, state, municipal and railway. Now all that 
has changed. We have been buying back our bonds, 



SUCCESS. 81 

indeed have been buying Europe's bonds. And to 
such an extent are we supplying Europe with man- 
ufactured goods that she has become seriously 
alarmed. And this is only the beginning, for we 
have hardly yet trenched on South America and 
other of Europe's foreign markets. 

Only twelve years ago, when I was in Vienna, I 
was told that forty thousand pearl-button makers 
in Austria were idle because America no longer 
wanted their pearl buttons. The pearl-button trade 
in Austria had languished. In twelve more years 
it will be lost. A friend of mine has recently invent- 
ed new machinery to make pearl buttons out of 
worthless oyster shells ; and so cheaply too that com- 
petition is impossible. In twelve more years there 
will not be a pearl button on an Austrian shirt that 
is not made in America and out of an American 
oyster shell, and so it goes. 

England has always been the undisputed iron- 
master of the world and Germany came next. Am- 
erica made none to speak of. But last year America 
made almost as much iron as England and Germany 
together, and this year she will probably exceed 
them both. Now we ship both iron and steel to 
England. 

What is the meaning of all this? We see its re- 
sults in the balance of trade now in our favor — 
seven hundred millions of dollars last year, that 
being the difference between what we bought from 
other nations and what we sold to them. 

What do seven hundred millions of dollars mean? 
They mean, for example, the value of every build- 



82 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

ing, and every lot that building stands on, and 
every vacant lot in Louisville, multiplied by seven. 
And this great balance in our favor, the result of 
one year's purchases and sales. And all of this 
has come about since the youngest of you was born. 
By reason of cheap freight the farmer in Dakota 
can lay down a bushel of wheat in Liverpool cheaper 
than the English farmer can grow and cut it. And 
the question now in England is, What are the farms 
in England worth? 

The naval battles of Dewey and Schley were a 
great surprise to Europe, but our commercial vic- 
tories are more surprising still, and vastly more 
important both to them and to us. 

The policy now under consideration and likely to 
be adopted — ^Reciprocity, a midway between Pro- 
tection and Free Trade — will probably be eagerly 
accepted by Europe. But it will prove to be only 
an added stimulus to the already sharpened appe- 
tites of our manufacturers and hasten the time when 
America shall be the world's great manufacturer, 
as, also, she is bound to be, the world's great banker. 

In quite another way our situation just now is 
peculiar, indeed unique; and out of it there may 
arise another and quite an unexpected victory. 

Ever since our civil war (if any war can prop- 
erly be called a civil war) the carrying trade of 
the Atlantic has been in the hands of foreigners; 
and, by reason thereof many millions of dollars are 
annually swept out of American business channels 
to enrich our friends beyond the sea. This has 
already gone on quite too long. To correct this 



success. 83 

evil, the right to purchase ships abroad that shall 
carry the American flag and have an American reg- 
istry (a right not now existing) or a grant of sub- 
sidies for building ships at home in order to com- 
pete with foreign builders — these are pressing ques- 
tions now before the people. Aside from all ques- 
tions of political economy, our national pride de- 
mands that something of this kind shall be done. 
For it is humiliating to all Americans who go abroad 
— and would be quite as much to those who stay at 
home if they could see it — to find in every port they 
enter the flag of every nation but their own. 

But the uniqueness of the situation is this. It has 
lately come about that only a very few men, perhaps 
four or five in New York, control the great railway 
lines across the country, and, therefore, thus control 
the outward freight of every pound of merchandise 
that goes from here to Europe. What if these men 
should unite to acquire sufficient ships to take the 
freight that they control ? It is plain that it is only 
necessary for them to do this, and the foreign ships 
would have to find an outlet for their enterprise 
elsewhere. This may never happen, but it is quite 
plain that it is entirely practicable, and it may 
happen. In that event the American flag, which 
since our war has disappeared from foreign ports, 
will suddenly assert itself, and proudly ride again 
the billows of the broad Atlantic. 

I stagger when I think of what this country may 
become, this marvel of success in nations, if God 
shall continue it in unity and peace, and in its pres- 
ent onward course. 



84 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Those of you who live to be old men shall see the 
language that you speak fast becoming universal; 
and the flag you love and honor, glowing with states 
and colonies, lifted by every Arctic breeze and afloat 
on every southern water. 

Young gentlemen, be proud because you are Amer- 
icans; because the future of your country glitters 
with a glory of success that history is barren of; 
for history has seen no equal of it. The grandeur 
of Rome was the grandeur of war. The grandeur 
of America shall be the grandeur of commerce. 
From the one came desolation, misery and death; 
from the other shall flow prosperity, civilization and 
art. This, this great marvel of success in nations, 
is the handwriting on the wall of destiny. 

As to yourselves, gentlemen, as individuals, what 
is success to you? It is this, to choose your life 
work; to live it day by day and give your leisure 
hours to books; to give a helping hand to others; 
to live a calm religious life, with friendship for 
your friends and compassion for your enemies, and 
give no man the right to say you ever wronged 
him. This is to succeed. Whether it bring with 
it the wealth of a Carnegie, the competence of a 
Howard, or the poverty and privations of a Paul. 
For after all, in the great hereafter, it shall be found 
that he was most successful, who did most good. 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN BAPTIST THEO^ 
LOGICAL SEMINARY, 

AT REQUEST OF PRESIDENT JOHN A. BROADUS, 
D. D., LL. D. 

Gentlemen, perhaps I owe you an apology for my 
appearance here. Not my modesty only, but also 
my conviction that nothing I can say can do you 
any good, would have restrained me from this in- 
trusion. But the request of one that I both love 
and honor, one that I am proud to call my friend, 
one whose great talents I admire, and whose won- 
derful words I have but too unfrequently hung 
upon with profit and delight, was a request that 
I could not refuse. This must plead for me as my 
excuse. 

But now, at the outset, I find myself confronted 
with the question, what can I say to you, that may 
by any possibility be of any service to you? Most 
young men start out in life with but a selfish wish 
to make for themselves fortunes — fortunes that may 
perish in their hands, or which at the most they can 
enjoy but for a brief period. You, with nobler 
purposes, enter it to make for others fortunes that 
shall endure throughout eternity. 

Goethe compares life to a game at whist where 
the cards are dealt out by destiny, and the rules 
of the game are fixed; subject to these conditions, 

85 



86 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the players win or lose, according to their skill or 
lack of it. The illustration may not be in perfect 
taste within the boundaries of a theological semi- 
nary, but there is a lesson in it, even to the preacher. 
Play skillfully the hand the Father may deal out 
to thee. "Be wise as serpents while harmless as 
doves. " There may be ways to win even the saloon 
keeper, if you have tact to find them. The so- 
called bad of earth regard the preacher as their 
enemy; or else, so far above them, fraternity is 
impossible. Death offers openings to hearts that 
commonly are steeled against religion. There may 
be other openings. 

I heard a Baptist woman from New York one 
day deplore the fact that only one — the preacher 
of "the little church around the corner " — could be 
found in that great city to attend the funerals of 
the lower grade of actors. Over the coffin of 
a woman of the town a preacher of this city (not 
now here) drew tears of penitence from many of 
her class. Well followed up, what might the end 
have been ? Christ came to call, not the righteous. — 
they may be let alone — but sinners to repentance. 
Never let it be said of you that you refused to 
go where Jesus would have gone; or of saying 
to the abandoned, "Go, sin no more." 

Religion is peculiar in its daily experiences. If 
I might venture to advise, I would say, lose not 
the practicalities of earth in the etherialities of 
heaven. You are called to instruct men — common 
men — not saints or angels — common men, with 
all of their vicissitudes and their temptations. 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 87 

I once knew a man so exceedingly religious that 
he left his church because an organ had been set 
up in it. His tender conscience could not abide 
an instrument that had no heart or soul, to sing 
the praises of our God. It was a mockery. It was 
a sin. About that time his bank discovered 
forgeries among the notes that he had discounted 
with it; and subsequent investigation showed that 
this had been his practice for a long time, perhaps 
for years. He had escaped detection by taking 
up the notes before maturity. Had common hon- 
esty been more a fundamental of his preacher's 
sermons, he might have been saved from the com- 
mission of this crime. 

There is a fashion nowadays prevailing in the 
business world for men to fail and compromise 
and then be richer than they were before; and 
this fashion, like all other fashions, has found its 
way into the churches. But the practice is not 
honest. Debt incurred can only be discharged by 
payment. There may be cases — and unhappily 
there are — where ordinary foresight cannot pro- 
vide against misfortune; but these are rare. A 
higher moral tone should animate the business 
world; and for the want of it I fear the pulpit 
is in part responsible. I think I know the minds 
of your professors well enough to hope that in 
this respect at least the pulpit of the future shall 
uphold a higher grade of ethics than the pulpit 
of today. 

I began my life as banker with a feeling that 
the promise of a member of a church was a better 



88 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

promise than that of any other man. The ex- 
perience of a quarter of a century has led to the 
conclusion that, other things being equal, the 
promise of a church member is perhaps as good as 
that of any other man. The pulpit must be in 
some degree responsible for this. It is sad to 
think that Ingersoll's "Mistakes of Moses " do 
not furnish half so strong an argument against 
religion as the banker's daily business. 

Some preachers dwell continuously on love and 
faith, and seem to think that, these secured, good 
works must necessarily follow. I am not sure that 
this is true. I have known bad boys that cruelly 
wronged the feelings of a mother; but I never 
knew a boy that did not both love his mother and 
also trust in her. I fear good works do not neces- 
sarily follow all faith and love. 

A little lesson now and then on works, will 
do no harm, and help to tone the moral system 
up. The human heart is like the Pontine marshes. 
It needs continual work and drainage to over- 
come its evils. Its miasmatic exhalations find spe- 
cific only in a rigid Biblical Peruvian bark, that 
should not only be remedial, but also prophylactic. 
All faith, no works, is like a rower with one oar. 
He progresses on curved lines. "Trust in the 
Lord" has come to be a phrase too much abused. 
The Lord does not want us to trust Him too much. 
He wishes us to trust ourselves a little. It is a 
case like that of Hercules and the Wagoner. Ma- 
homet hit the proper medium when, camping on 
a march, he heard a pious soldier say that he 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 89 

would trust in Providence and turn his camel loose. 
"Nay, friend," said this beginner of a new religion, 
"but tie thy camel and rely on Providence." We 
should have works commingled with our faith, 
and should be taught to do them. God may enjoin 
■a river, and for man's crossing bind its fluent 
waters in a solid wall; but man must carry on 
his shoulders memorial-stones of heavy weight if 
he would cross it. 

There is a pride of character in business life, 
sometimes surpassing even Christianity, (so called) 
itself. You can draw your own conclusions, and 
in your future pastorates, perhaps find means to 
raise a standard of integrity, at least as high as 
that erected by acknowledged infidelity. The 
world needs lessons on good weight, full measure, 
and the performance of all obligations. The word 
of one professing fellowship of Christ should be a 
bond that passes current in the market. I pray you 
inculcate such lessons. 

As for yourselves, I would say, do not go in 
debt ; but if you must, be sure it is within your pow- 
er to pay when debts mature. Whatever your in- 
come may be, live within it ; and the difference lay up 
in bank, until there is enough to buy a home, a bond, 
or income paying stock that shall afford you no 
anxiety. It is many years since the book was in 
my hand, but I remember one of Dickens' char- 
acters whose income was but twenty pounds. He 
had kept account of all expenditures, and if I 
remember rightly, in another place, account of 
what he had been tempted to expend. As the year 



90 THE WHITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

closed in upon him he counted up expenditures, 
and found that they amounted to nineteen pounds, 
nineteen shillings and sixpence. He had a sixpence 
over. Gratified by the result, he vents his feelings 
in the single exclamation, "happiness!" Then it 
occurred to him to inspect the other account, which 
showed, that had he yielded to temptation, ex- 
penditure would have reached the enormous sum 
of twenty pounds and sixpence — sixpence more 
than his entire income, and nowhere could that 
needed sixpence have been found. The result was 
startling. Contemplating it with alarm, his cry 
was "Misery!" The sixpence then, on one side 
or the other, meant happiness or misery. Perhaps 
no writer — writers of the Bible alone excepted — 
ever gave the world a better lesson. Lend not; 
for lending brings anxieties, estrangements, and 
sometimes enmities. But this advice is hardly 
needed. You are not likely to be rich enough 
to lend. The preacher's pay is but too often pov- 
erty. Asking for bread, he revels on a stone. His 
credit balance must be looked for elsewhere. 

You will be called to minister to people of all 
tastes and feelings. Some of their tastes and feel- 
ings may be wrong; but right or wrong, they 
entertain them. Your object will be to win all. 
Wisdom, as well as gentleness, will be necessary 
to secure it. 

I may seem to be indelicate, or even irreligious 
in what I am about to say, and I may hazard your 
good opinion of my sense of propriety. But I 
cannot withhold what is in my mind, believing it 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 91 

to be for your good, and the good of our Master's 
cause. 

I have seen preachers on warm days, with naked 
hands, wipe perspiration from their faces. Nay, 
I have seen them, in abstraction, pick their noses 
with their fingers during the singing of a last 
hymn; and then, with unclean hands, descend to 
the table of our Lord, and break the sacred bread. 
Is taste too delicate, or too fastidious, that is thus 
offended? Is it a wonder some are kept away 
from the communion table? 

A writer in the April number of the Pennsyl- 
vania Annals of Hygiene insists upon the use of 
separate glasses for the wine, because of danger 
of contagion, by germs adhering to the lips of 
those afflicted with infectious diseases. I am not 
prepared to advocate so great an innovation, but 
I dare to plead for a ewer and a basin, and soap 
and towel on the platform, and the washing of the 
hands in the presence of the people, before the 
breaking of the bread. We read of a washing of 
the feet before the supper; why not the hands? 
There can be no harm in this, and surely there can 
be no sin in common cleanliness. 

You will meet peculiar people now and then, 
within your several churches — people that in one 
way or another will often try your patience. I 
knew a preacher once whose fate it was always 
to be hewing his way through difficulties. Perhaps 
his difficulties were more imaginary than real. He 
had a member, a good man in his way, who had 
the habit of tramping down the aisle at every 



92 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

Sunday service just as the sermon was begun. The 
preacher, more and more annoyed, and having 
failed by gentle means to remedy the evil, re- 
solved to stop it, and preached a sharp phillipic 
upon coming late. The aim was true, the hit was 
palpable. Perhaps it was a trifle too successful. 
The member never went again, nor did he ever 
after go to any other church. Doubtless, the 
preacher's views were right. But sometimes there 
may arise a question, which is better — to endure 
a wrong, or risk a greater in correcting it. We 
cannot always regulate the running gear of other 
peoples' minds to fit the gauge established for our 
own. 

"Our people have done all they could." This 
is a common saying of those who seek city aid 
for country churches; but the saying is never 
true. Indeed., it is not true of churches in the 
city, where, according to their means they give 
much more. The lie should be corrected, and the 
people taught that lying is a sin. 

Questioning these frequent applications for aid, 
I have discovered, that farmers in good fix — a say- 
ing, which if not elegant, is yet expressive — think 
that they do well when they give ten dollars per 
year for the support of local gospel, and perhaps a 
half dollar more for missions. If it is the duty 
of the pulpit to denounce sin, and if covetousness 
be a sin, why should this sin be excused when 
all others are denounced? 

I was brought up within the sacred precincts 
of a preacher's family. The outgrowth of his 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 93 

preaching was five churches and a Baptist college, 
the first so-called dissenting institution of religious 
learning that ever wrung a charter from the Brit- 
ish crown. What yet remains of him of earth lies 
buried 'neath the spot where he first preached the 
gospel in a wilderness. The mother church was 
rich. His salary was ample, but it was never paid. 
He had no time or thought for money, and but 
for the small patrimony of his wife, and her most 
excellent management of her limited resources, 
the family might have suffered. Great preacher 
as he was, yet neglected to instil as well the 
duty of discharge of obligations due to Caesar as 
to God. I am not sure but that his heirs, by suit 
for money due, might not have taught his church 
as good a lesson as any that he ever gave them. 

Cant, in prayer, and frequent repetition of stale 
phrases, however good they may be in themselves, 
become insipid when too often heard. I well re- 
member when first I listened to a prayer that those 
around might not return "to the beggarly elements 
of the world." The expression pleased my childish 
ear, but it lost its charm for me when it became 
so popular ; few prayers escaped its introduction. 

You cannot tell your good old deacons what to 
say in prayer, but in many ways you may encour- 
age spontaneity, and thus provoke a zest for meet- 
ings of this kind. True prayer has no language; 
knows no words. The nearer we can come to this 
the better. 

But cant and set phrases are not confined to the 
prayer meeting; they sometimes find their way into 



94 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the pulpit. Perhaps they are less harmful there, 
but none the less insipid. If I were required to 
give advice upon these points, I should be com- 
pelled to say, trust to impulse in your prayers, 
but never in your sermons. There may be geniuses 
whose momentary inspiration may surpass results 
of study, but all preachers are not geniuses, nor to 
inspiration can they always safely trust. The time 
has passed when without thought and study, congre- 
gations may be interested and retained; too many 
books and magazines are being printed. The lazy 
preacher repeatedly presenting re-hashes of old ser- 
mons, should not complain of empty benches, or lay 
the blame for them entirely on Sunday papers. 

There is a sloppy sort of preaching that we some- 
times hear, that covers everything and touches 
nothing. Its argument is noise; its pleading, 
platitude. It often comes from men of piety and 
re?l ability, but strikes one with a feeling of re- 
gret, that piety and power should fail to be 
enforced by common industry. 

A little business sense applied to the management 
of churches may do great good. The wonder is it 
is so much neglected. 

Attending Calvary Baptist Church, New York, 
one day, I was accosted at the close of service by 
the gentleman who had seated me. He was evi- 
dently in watch for me. He talked with me awhile, 
handed me his card, and pressed me so politely to 
allow him to introduce me to his pastor, that re- 
fusal was impossible. Beaching the pastor, I 
found with him a dozen or more of other people — 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 95 

strangers like myself — that had evidently been 
gathered up by other ushers, and now were being 
presented; and the pastor, with a pencil and a 
book in hand, was taking down the names of such 
of them as were residents of that city, or likely 
to become residents. Going to their Sunday school 
later in the day, immediately on entering I was 
met by a pleasant faced old gentleman who took 
me to a Bible class in the main audience room. 
In both cases, I was cordially invited to come 
again whenever in the city. 

Some years ago I had to be for several weeks in 
Nashville. I found a Baptist church near my hotel, 
and regularly attended it while I remained there. 
The sermons were good, the singing also, but the 
congregation small. Once I ventured on their Sun- 
day school. But in all my visits to that church no 
hand was ever offered me, no smile was ever given 
me, no word was ever said to me. It is in no spirit 
of complaint that I say this, but only to point out 
two methods of church management. You will 
form your own opinions as to which is best. Make 
your members work. Find something for every 
one to do. Those who neither do nor pay will 
feel no interest. I see? no reason why a church 
may not be organized in visiting committees to 
keep the laggards up; to bring in new material, 
and generally to keep the work agoing. But this 
will all depend upon the pastor. Water cannot 
rise above its source, and seldom comes quite up 
to it. 

The feelings of those that have just turned to 



96 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Christ are probably more sensitive than those of 
older Christians, and we that are older are in 
some danger of forgetting this and doing harm to 
them. Religion with them, is but a young and ten- 
der plant — not deeply rooted — unable to bear the 
shocks that deeply rooted plants may bear. I well 
remember the first shock that mine received. A 
good deacon was appointed to wait on me in bap- 
tism. The walk to where the baptism would take 
place was half a dozen squares. He was a mer- 
chant, and he talked to me along the way of sales 
and trade. I listened, but I listened with a heart 
bowed down with grief. I was shocked by his 
indifference. The talk continued. Even in the 
robing room he still talked hats. Oh, how I wished 
that he would kneel with me, on this, to me, 
eventful day. The church I joined was then a 
mission. It had no pool. To the baptistry of the 
mother church the converts of the mission went, to 
imitate their Savior in the sacred rite of baptism. 
On one of these occasions I heard the sexton's 
wife illnaturedly complain of trouble caused by 
these, in wiping up their slops. Had the woman 
been a heathen, I had not been shocked. But that 
a member of a Christian church should find a 
cause for grumbling in a rite that signaled a new 
birth, or speak contemptuously of the drippings 
of a water sacred to the memory of our Christ, 
was passing strange, was wonderful to me. 

My third shock was in a neighboring city. This 
was my last. At least, if any others ever seized 
me, I do not now remember them. Perhaps soon 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 97 

after this I was steel armorized against them. Per- 
haps, soon after this, I was as well prepared to give 
as to take them. I fear that this was so. 

It was in a neighboring city. Accident detained 
me over Sabbath. The day was dreary. It had 
been sleeting. A heavy hail had caused the 
loiterers upon the corner opposite my window to 
scatter, scampering for shelter. And now the snow 
was coming in large flakes, dissolving as it fell 
upon the wet and muddy streets. I sallied out 
to find a Baptist church, and found one. The 
preacher was much more than ordinary. His na- 
tive eloquence was lighted up with earnestness. 
The text was in eighth Romans: "For I am per- 
suaded, that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor 
principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor 
things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any 
other creature, shall be able to separate us from 
the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our 
Lord." 

I listened with delight. The beautiful impossi- 
bilities! — impossibilities of separation "from the 
love of God which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord!" 
He dwelt on them. Of the text, each word stood 
out in startling brightness. And only as the human 
is below divinity, were his words lower than the 
text itself. Indeed, so shrouded was I in the 
glamour of the moment it seemed to me his words 
approached too dangerously near divinity itself. 
I said I listened with delight? I was rather like; 
the bird that trembles in the fascination of the fic- 
titious serpent's gaze and falls before it. I dreaded 



98 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

for the end to come, but comforted myself with the 
reflection that if there were but standing room for 
one within that house that night that I would fill it. 

I hardly heard the singing of the hymn that 
followed. My mind was filled with dreams. But 
then the curtain fell. It fell with heavy crash. 
Was it the same man? It looked like him, and 
stood in the same place where he had stood. But 
now, how different his manner! and different too, 
his voice and tone! How cold and commonplace 
his words now sounded. They chilled me, as he 
announced in human speech, that owing to the 
inclemency of the weather there would be no ser- 
vice in that house that night. 

I listened, dazed, and kept my seat. Then hear- 
ing a shuffling noise of feet, I mingled with the 
crowd, and staggered out, saying to myself that 
"neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor princi- 
palities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things 
to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other 
creature/ ' that none of these "should ever sepa- 
rate us from the love of God which was in Christ 
Jesus our Lord," and nothing else, except inclem- 
ent weather. 

It struck me like a bolt of lightning ! It may be 
that I took too serious a view of what was but a 
common matter. It may be that I should have 
considered that men girt up with eloquence said 
things they did not always mean, and after all, that 
there was no great inconsistency between the 
speech and the announcement. But the other was 
the view I took ; and this, the effect it had upon me. 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 99 

And you, young gentlemen, who in the future have 
to grapple with the various phases of the human 
mind, if, in the shocks received in early Christian 
life by one who feels his weakness more and more 
as days glide on, you may find any lesson helpful 
to you in your future work, I shall be glad to have 
you seek me out, and tell me of it in the great 
hereafter. 

Church music is perhaps a dangerous theme for 
preachers, or for anybody else, to meddle with. I 
shall only say this much of it. You should ever 
be above your people, and ever lead them toward 
you. I have never heard music anywhere that 
seemed to me to be too good to sing in praise of 
God, but I have heard much within our churches 
that was not good enough. 

As example of that which is good, and which 
everybody can sing, I might name Old Hundred, 
Dundee, Tallis' Evening Hymn and Hamburg. 
Germany is an exquisite little gem, but few in 
any congregation can master its harmonies, and 
without these it is hardly worth the singing. 

Speaking of harmony reminds me that preach- 
ers often make the mistake of confounding it with 
melody. Even Webster is in similar error, making 
them synonymous. By melody musicians mean the 
tune ; by harmony, the parts belonging to it. 

As an example of church music that is thorough- 
ly bad we might refer to Ortonville. Maitland is 
not much better. I mention these the more because 
they seem to be special favorites with country 
churches. Not that the pieces themselves are in- 

Lorc. 



100 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

deed so very bad, but the barbarous way in which, 
they are commonly sung is fearfully distressing to 
cultivated ears. 

Some few of the so-called gospel songs have a 
certain tenderness about them that may cause them 
to endure, but as a rule, it must be admitted they 
are very weak. And yet, one Sunday on the ocean, 
when all day long I yearned for some religious 
worship; when night had settled round our little 
world, the sound of voices drew me toward the 
second cabin, and there, delightedly, I stood out- 
side a group of people singing gospel songs. They 
sang them well. My crave, in some degree, was 
satisfied. It was religious service. Since then I 
believe that I have thought more kindly of the gos- 
pel songs. 

In my young days the singing of the churches 
was said to be too slow. But now the pendulum 
is on the other side. So far as I have opportunity 
to judge, the singing is too fast, and thus in part, 
is robbed of its solemnity. 

In conclusion, Gentlemen, I ask permission to 
congratulate you. You have had great opportuni- 
ties, for you have had great teachers. In the re- 
quisite combine of piety and great ability, no 
faculty exceeds them. Had it been foreseen that I 
should say this, I might not have had the pleasure 
of addressing you. So far as it may be within the 
power of instruction to prepare, you go forth from 
this, the largest institution of religious learning in 
America, — perhaps the largest in the world — well 
qualified to do your work. 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 101 

I know not what your wishes may be, but most 
of you will doubtless find congenial settlements 
within our several States. Some of you may wan- 
der with the blood stained wood to distant lands, 
where arctic regions shall be melted by the simple 
story, or zephyrs, through their tropic forests, sigh 
their mournful requiem to a suffering Christ. 
Wherever you may be when the Lord God, walking 
in his garden, calls for thee, may you be able to 
answer, "Here, Lord, am I, in the path of duty." 

Some of you may starve; some may be glorified 
in martyrdom. Even those who pitch their tents 
within the aegis of the great Republic may not be 
exempt from danger. There is existing now a new 
crusade; a war upon good order and the cross. 
The evils that we read of may be but symptoms of 
a new disease, unnatural, unnational, but danger- 
ously infectious and wide-spread. Fierceness will 
surely follow if it becomes an epidemic. The con- 
tinent of Europe seems to be a vast Vesuvius. Its 
smothered fires may in the future, burst and send 
their sparks across the ocean to kindle conflagra- 
tions in our peaceful cities. How long suppression 
may defer is open to conjecture. The end, if once 
the fires light, no statesman can foresee. 

"The mother of the Gracchi," said Mirabeau, 
"cast the dust of her murdered sons into the air, 
and out of it sprang Caius Marius." We may not 
see the avenger in the cloud, or anything to be 
avenged, but the dust is rising. Shall it fall back 
to earth again in harmless particles, or concentrate 
in storm? There may be troublous times within 



102 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

your day. But we have often seen that out of 
evil cometh good. Prom the burning streams of 
lava that devastated her cities and her plains 
Rome gathered indestructible material to build her 
famous roads. For her temples, and her Coliseum, 
and other monuments of art, she is indebted to her 
waters charged with deadly sulphuretted hydrogen. 
So, in the mazes of a providence, inscrutable to us, 
from the present menaces to all that we deem right 
and good, a greater good than any we may dream 
of may result. 

The world is changing, but the church is chang- 
ing too. Its history thus far is but the record of 
the lives of its great teachers. Among these some 
of you may yet be found. How much shall you 
contribute to continued change, or how determin- 
edly preserve the present? And still, the changes 
may not be so great as they appear. Hell has drop- 
ped largely out of modern preaching, that must be 
confessed, but the anchor of the great Reformer — 
"by faith are ye saved" — still holds its grasp on 
Christian thought. 

The world at one time, and Italy besides, was 
subject to the people of a single city. The am- 
bition of Napoleon, farther reaching, conceived a 
universal sceptre wielded by a single hand. So, 
we look forward to an undivided rule, when hills 
and valleys shall embrace ; when peace shall muster 
in defence of nations ; when Jerusalem and Antioch 
shall unite in praise; when earth and heaven shall 
smile upon each other, and over all, the Crucified 
shall reign. 



ADDRESS AT SOUTHERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 103 

Once at night, becalmed upon the Gulf of Mexi- 
co, repeatedly I cast a sailor's bucket on the quiet 
sea, and watched the scattered sparkles of the 
phosphorescent waters gleaming with more beauties 
than all the precious stones that I had ever seen. 
So, in the great future, which I shall be among the 
first of us to enter, fondly among the pleasures I 
expect shall be my power to look back upon this 
Seminary, with all its bright and scattered influ- 
ences, rich in the endowments of the Holy Spirit, 
glowing with the reflected triumphs of its Alumni, 
and glittering brighter as its circle widens. 

God grant to you the grace to add to, and me to 
witness this ever growing power of the Nazarene, 
till the whole earth shall be engirt with love for 
Him, and this, your Alma Mater — honored upon 
earth by Boyce and Manly, and Williams and 
Riggan, and in heaven by the great Christ Him- 
self, — shall be emphasized in the encomium, "Well 
done, thou good and faithful servant.' ' 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 

This paper was prepared for the Parliament of Religions, 
a lecture course inaugurated by the Church of the Messiah. 
It was meant to be only a presentation of the Baptist's belief; 
but having been written immediately after the address of 
the Rev. Dr. Moses 1 , wherein the learned Rabbi, while ex- 
tolling the character of Jesus, yet denied His divinity, His 
unique birth, and His resurrection, it perhaps naturally, to 
some extent, ventured upon a defense of Christianity in 
general. 

I feel very sensibly the high honor conferred 
upon me by the invitation to speak on this free 
platform to a congregation noted for its high in- 
telligence, for the chasteness of its forms of 
worship, and for the marked ability of its pulpit. 
And yet, I come before you with some feeling oJJ 
regret. Louisville contains many Baptist preach- 
ers, distinguished for their learning; and with all 
of the professional scholarship, of which the Bap- 
tists here can boast, it seems unfit that on me the 
duty should devolve of speaking for them. But 
still, the task is not a hard one. 

At the outset I desire to say I am not here to 
attack, nor even to defend. Nor am I here as 
representing that great body of Christians to 
which I have the honor to belong. For what I 

104 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 105 

may say I only am responsible. But I think I 
know what Baptists teach, what they believe; 
and in a plain and simple way shall try to tell it. 

First, man must have a religion, — some religion. 
His nature craves it, his impotence demands it. 
The why that he is here, the whither he must go, 
are pressing questions when he thinks. We live 
between two worlds. We know but little of the 
one, and, outside of revelation, nothing of the 
other. In nature there are many hints; but the 
Baptist thinks the book we call the Bible is the 
only infallible rule of faith and practice. To 
those denying this, the Baptist asks, What other 
book contains God's speech to man? And if no 
other, what antidote is there for grief; what sur- 
cease for earth's sorrows; what anchorage for 
hope; what view beyond the grave; and what 
avail is there in prayer? 

The Baptist thinks the Bible was inspired by 
God; and to me, its prophecies and their astonish- 
ing fulfillments are convincive of that fact. And 
if some should say they do not know that the pro- 
phecies respecting Babylon, and Tyre, and Ishmael 
were written before the happenings that they fore- 
told, I answer, they do know the prophecies about 
the Jews, — that they should be a hiss and byword, 
should be scattered among all nations, and yet 
should be preserved a people, — they do know these 
were foretold; and they know that their fulfill- 
ment now stands out a monument of truth today. 
That today in Northeastern Europe the Jews are 
still a hiss and byword. That today, though scat- 



106 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

tered, they remain a people. Not like the Gulf 
Stream, a united body in the broad Atlantic, but 
rather like the Gulf Stream if scattered through the 
ocean in innumerable drops, with every drop a 
Gulf Stream drop marked by its own peculiarity. 
For what other people were ever thus scattered 
and survived? What other people ever thus com- 
mingled with humanity without absorption? This 
miracle foretold by Moses, stands out today among 
the mountain peaks of prophecy and history alike 
-—one of the many reasons why the Baptist thinks 
the Bible was inspired. 

But it has become a fashion nowadays for men 
to smile at it for saying that in six days God made 
the earth and all that in it is. But the Bible 
never said it in the sense that such men under- 
stand it, or wilfully misunderstand it. Nor is it 
true that Bible advocates today have been com- 
pelled by science to take refuge in a new inter- 
pretation. On the contrary, in a comment on this 
passage by Eusebius, who wrote about 315 A. D., 
I find him saying, " These days must not be taken 
as our days, but as ineffable periods of time." 
What are the ineffable periods of time? 

These words, you will observe, completely in 
agreement with our present knowledge, were writ- 
ten centuries before the science of the rocks was 
ever dreamed of; and, therefore, this interpreta- 
tion of the days is not, as some suppose, a new 
one to which believers in the Bible have 1 been 
driven. 

We often hear it said that science contradicts 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 107 

the Bible. To this it has been answered, that the 
books composing it were given in the language 
of their times, and were not books of science. But 
to me it is a startling fact, that while the Bible 
was not meant to be a book of science, it does so 
strikingly agree with it. For, taking up a stand- 
ard text-book on geology, I find in it that plants, 
were first created, next fishes, next birds; and 
after that came mammals; and, on comparison, I 
find in Genesis the story is the same. And as I 
read, I wonder how it was that — science undiscov- 
ered — the writer of the Book of Genesis found out 
so much. Unless by inspiration I can not account 
for it. Can you? 

It is in fashion, too, to ridicule the deluge. And 
Tom Paine 's ''Age of Reason, " with that kind of 
interrogative assertion which speciousness sometimes 
assumes to put false face on truth, asks the bold 
question, "If this were true, how is it that no people 
but the Hebrews knew it?" But you who have read 
history, and know that scarce a race of people can 
be found that has not a tradition of a flood, would 
rather frame the question, How is it that with this 
belief so universal, it yet turns out there was no 
flood? And in passing, let me say to those of you 
who chance to visit London, do not fail to see the 
Assyrian account of it, gathered from the dust of 
more than twenty centuries, now in the British Mu- 
seum. 

We are told in modern times that common sense 
resents the Bible story of the stoppage of the sun, 
a lingual fiction not yet abandoned, a solecism not 



108 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

yet corrected, for we still speak of the rising and 
the setting of the sun. But I know the maker of my 
watch could stop it if he chose, and even turn it 
back; and I see no reason why the Maker of the 
earth might not suspend its motion and hold the 
planets in a momentary pause. I know that this 
would be unusual, and I should not believe that it 
was ever done if the book that tells the story did 
not tell me other things as wonderful that I know 
are true. 

Read that short prophecy of Noah: "Cursed be 
Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be. Blessed 
be the Lord God of Shem. God shall enlarge 
Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem/' 
That is all there is of it. You may read it in ten 
seconds, but its fulfillment runs the course of thirty 
centuries. 

Canaan was to be a servant. True, there have 
been exceptions, but Canaan makes your fires now, 
and in his humble station is happier, perhaps, than 
you in your exalted one. Japheth was to be en- 
larged. See him today in Europe and America. 
He rules the world. But in the tents of Shem a 
blessing must be found, and Japheth was to dwellj 
there. Yes, with all his greatness, Japheth now re- 
poses in the tents of Shem, for in the tents of Shem 
the Christ appeared. 

Tell me, ye who doubt, which is the harder: for 
the maker of the watch to stop it, or thus to pene- 
trate the hidden secrets of futurity ? The fulfillment 
of these prophecies is every day before you. You 
can see them with your naked eyes. The Baptist 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 109 

thinks a book that has such wonders in it must have 
been written by a mightier than human pen. 

For similar reason the Baptist accepts the story 
of the unique birth of Jesus, His death, His burial 
and resurrection; and can not see a middle ground 
between divinity and imposture. For, if Jesus did 
not claim divinity, why was He crucified? If on 
the other hand He did pretend to that which was 
untrue, how can He be accepted as a prophet and 
a pattern? 

I know that other virgin births have been pro- 
claimed, but other virgin births were not sustained 
by miracles. In the arid fields of reason the virgin 
birth will always be denied, but I can well believe 
the virgin birth if I can believe the resurrection. 
And if I can not believe the resurrection I can not 
believe a word of the New Testament, except tha 
mere fact that one called Jesus lived. 

But not to believe the resurrection forces the be- 
lief that eleven men said they saw it when they did 
not see it ; that they made nothing by the imposition 
and expected nothing; that in spite of the perse- 
cution they still persisted in proclaiming it, and 
finally gave up their lives to propagate the lie. Do 
you think so many fools could ever have been found 
in Louisville? And if not here, why expect to find 
them in Jerusalem? Infidelity stoutly asserts, 
"Never has a miracle been proved.' ' But what is 
proof? In our courts the uncontradicted testimony 
of two credible witnesses will sustain any fact. 
Here is the uncontradicted testimony of eleven. 

But if Jesus did not rise His body must have still 



110 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

remained. Why not produce it? Were there no 
spades in Palestine? No motives? No detectives? 
Had He not said that He would rise? 

Oh, but they stole the body! Who stole it? The 
terrified disciples who had fled! Stole it from a 
Eoman guard especially appointed to prevent the 
theft! Stole it, and then said that He had risen! 
And they kept on telling the unlikely lie until they 
were themselves destroyed for telling it! 

Oh, which is easier? Saying nothing of the 
prophecies respecting Christ ; saying nothing of the 
miracles He wrought; saying nothing of His life 
and character, which all admit, is it not easier to 
believe that Jesus rose than that a group of men 
thus absurdly and unnaturally acted? 

But not to believe the resurrection compels me 
to account for change of Sabbath from the seventh 
day to the first, and that I can not do on any other 
supposition. Not to believe the resurrection is to me 
impossible, for every infidel attests it in every letter 
that he writes, in every entry in his ledger, in every 
note or check he signs or dates A. D., Anno Domini 
— in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and 
ninety-five. 

Not to believe the resurrection? Fancy, if 
you can, a boy two thousand years hence saying 
to his father, "What mean the fire crackers and 
the cannon, and the speeches, and the holiday of 
July 4th?" and the father answering, "They mean, 
my son, that on that day the thirteen states pub- 
lished to the world a declaration of their independ- 
ence, but I think it never happened." Can you im- 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. Ill 

agine it? And yet is that more strange than that 
one who should say today, "I know the Sabbath has 
been changed; I know the dates of history are 
altered; I know that commerce turns on cogwheels 
of new forms; I know all these have happened; 
and I know some say that these point backward to 
a day when Jesus rose; but still I think He did 
not rise." Further, not to believe the resurrection 
compels me to believe that God would dry the 
mourner's tears by imposition; would hush the cry 
of sorrow by deceit; would quench our thirst for 
immortality by delusion, and squander miracles with 
lavish hand to prove a lie. 

There is a day, once every year, when every pious 
Jew throughout the world looks up to God with 
reverence and prayer, and breaks the unleavened 
bread. What does it mean? 

Back, back through light and dark, through sor- 
row and through joy; back, back through centuries 
of cloud and dust, and fire and smoke and blood, 
with that unrisen morsel to his lips, the child of 
Abraham looks backward through the gloom of ages 
to a time when Rome and Greece were not nor even 
Babylon. But tracing the hidden line of history, 
he hears the rustle of the death angel's wings, and 
finds the starting point of the unleavened bread 
among the shadows of the Pyramids. And from 
that time till now this solemn rite has been con- 
tinued. Has any ever doubted that its every annual 
recurrence but brings up anew the fearful midnight 
of the Passover? Can it more strongly prove the 



112 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

exodus from Egypt than the change of the Sab- 
bath proves the resurrection? 

There is a monument on Bunker Hill, which you 
and I believe proclaims a battle fought for liberty. 
But blot the record out from history; destroy the 
printing press; and, ages hence the tale will still 
be told, and still will be believed. Can spire of stone 
be half so strong a proof as change of Sabbath? 

If, then, the Passover points backward to the 
beginning of the nation, Israel; if the holiday of 
July 4th reflects the birth of this republic ; do these 
more surely indicate their origin than the change 
of Sabbath speaks the story of the risen Christ? 
The resurrection proved, the greater must include 
the less; the virgin birth becomes no more a won- 
der ; the miracles no longer a surprise. The Baptist 
takes the story as a whole. 

After the resurrection the Baptist thinks that the 
apostles here and there established churches — not 
a church, but churches. I shall not weary you with 
quotations, for those who care to look the question 
up five minutes with a New Testament will suffice 
to show such references were always to the churches ; 
as for example, "To the churches of Galatia," "to 
the church at Corinth," etc. Not a unit, but units. 
Just so the Baptist churches are today; each a sep- 
arate church; each independent of all others, with 
no authority above them but that of Christ Himself. 

True, it happened with those early churches once 
or twice that in their ignorance (there being then 
no written word) their members differed on some 
points, and sought advice from those that they sup- 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 113 

posed knew better than themselves — just as men 
in business every day do now, and Baptists some- 
times do. But advice was all they sought, and ad- 
vice was all they seemed to have received. There 
was no earthly power, so far as we can see, whose 
mandates they were under obligations to obey. 

It may seem to some to be a matter of no im- 
portance whether a congregation is self-governed or 
ruled by bishops, conferences or synods. Indeed, 
to some, the latter may appear to be the way of wis- 
dom. But however loose or careless he may be in 
business or in politics, in religion the Baptist is 
tenacious of New Testament observances. Thus, 
electing its own bishop or pastor, its deacons, clerk 
and treasurer, each Baptist church has always been 
a small republic in itself. And I have good au- 
thority for the statement that Thomas Jefferson, 
the writer of that paper which Gladstone has de- 
clared to be the greatest Bill of Rights on earth, 
once said that his first clear conceptions of a republic 
came from his knowledge of the customs of a Bap- 
tist church. 

That in the time of the apostles, and for some 
time thereafter, each church was independent of all 
other churches appears from Gibbon ("Decline and 
Fall of the Roman Empire," vol. 1, page 554), who, 
writing of the Christians in the first century, says 
of them, "The societies which were instituted in 
the cities of the Roman empire were united only 
by ties of faith and charity. Independence and 
equality formed the basis of their internal consti- 
tution.' ' Just as with the Baptist churches now. 



114 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

And who shall say how much this leaven of inde- 
pendence and equality, so silently at work through- 
out the Christian centuries, had helped to dull the 
edge of despotism, to loose the rivets of a feudal 
age and elevate humanity. And if the human stream 
be but the mental bias of a past, transmitted by 
heredity, where shall we find the origin of that 
immortal paper unless we seek it in the hearts of 
those societies which in the dimness of the rights 
of man thus firmly held to "independence and equal- 
ity?" That these societies were what are now called 
Baptists I hope to make appear before I close. 

That in spite of the corroding influence of am- 
bition, this independence of each separate church 
continued until the time of Constantine, who, in 
the fourth century, adopted Christianity as the re- 
ligion of the state, is shown by Bryce in his first 
chapter of the "Holy Roman Empire" in the fol- 
lowing words, "And just as with the extension of 
the empire all the independent rights of districts, 
towns or tribes had disappeared, so now the primi- 
tive freedom of individual Christians and local 
churches was finally overborne by the idea of one 
visible catholic church, uniform in faith and ritual." 

The advocates of liberty, the enemy of oppression 
in every form, in every country and in every age, 
insisting on the independence of each individual 
church, the Baptist has forever been opposed to 
what is known as church and state. And to him 
and his determined opposition to such union, is it 
too much to say that enfranchisement of conscience 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 115 

and liberty of man are as much indebted as to any- 
other cause? So strongly have the Baptists always 
clung to this idea that every form of obligation to 
a government has always been rejected by them. 

And Governor Medeiro, of Saltillo, Mexico, was 
recently surprised by the refusal of Dr. Powell, a 
Baptist missionary, to accept a building that he 
needed because the owner of the building was a 
state. 

Each church, then, being independent of all other 
churches and composed alone of those who, having 
believed, have been baptized, the question next 
arises, What is Baptism? To this I answer, first, 
the word is not an English word, nor a translated 
word; but, slightly altered, has been transferred. 
To scholars I shall leave discussion of its meaning 
in the Greek, and only seek its meaning as we find 
it in our English Bible. 

The Bible has a mention of one Lord, one faith, 
one baptism — not two Lords, two faiths, two bap- 
tisms, but only one of each. While this is true, it 
yet appears that there are Christians now (and good 
ones, too) who, still holding to one Lord and to one 
faith, admit two baptisms, one by immersion and 
the other by sprinkling. 

Eschewing scholarship, to which some of you, like 
me, may lay no claim, let us take our common Eng- 
lish Bible to see if from it we can find out if both 
of these are likely to be good; and, if not, which 
has the greater weight of probability. We do that 
way in common life, why not in religion? 

First, then, Matt. 3 :5, 6 says of John the Baptist, 



116 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

"Then went out to him Jerusalem, and all Judea 
. . . and were baptized of him in Jordan, con- 
fessing their sins." Mark 1:5 makes the same state- 
ment, but puts it, "in the river Jordan." John 
3:23 reads, "John was baptizing in Aenon, near 
to Salim, because there was much water there." 
Luke mentions the baptizing by John, but does not 
say how or where it was administered, and that is 
pretty much all the Gospels say about it. 

John had electrified the nation. He cried, "Re- 
pent and be baptized." The people came from far 
and near. He chose a place (John the writer says) 
at Aenon "because there was much water there." 
And he baptized them (Matthew says) "in the Jor- 
dan." And Mark says "in the river Jordan." 

Do you think that they were sprinkled? I do 
not say that they were not, but if sprinkling were 
the mode, I can not see why John should seek the 
Jordan for a depth of water when any household 
in Jerusalem could have provided him with all he 
needed. Can you? But we must not leave the bap- 
tism administered by John without looking at the 
baptism received by Jesus. Matthew 3:13 and 16, 
telling of this, says, "Then came Jesus from Galilee 
to Jordan unto John to be baptized of him. . . . 
And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straight- 
way out of the water." If He went up out of the 
water, He must have been in the water, and we 
see no need of this if He were only sprinkled. The 
same is true of Philip and the Eunuch (Acts 8:38) 
"they went down both into the water, both Philip 
and the Eunuch and he baptized them?" 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 117 

Thus far I grant it is not plainly stated that the 
mode of baptism was immersion, and I only claim 
the probability. But in his letter to the Romans, 
stimulating them to holier lives, Paul writes, "Know 
ye not that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus 
Christ were baptized into His death? Therefore, 
we are buried with Him by baptism into death, that 
like as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory 
of the Father, even so we also should walk in the 
newness of life. For if we have been planted to- 
gether in the likeness of His death we shall be also 
in the likeness of His resurrection. " 

I think that settles it. We all know what a burial 
is — some of us too painfully. Christian baptism, 
Paul says, is a burial. We can understand that if 
immersion is the mode — not otherwise. 

As to infant baptism, if there were a single case of 
it mentioned in the Bible, I would read it to you. 
As there is not, Baptists have never been persuaded 
to adopt it. The arguments in favor of it are: 

1. That it took the place of circumcision. But the 
Bible nowhere says so, nor is it limited to males 
by those who make this claim, as circumcision was. 

2. But, they say, Jesus said, "Suffer little chil- 
dren to come unto me." Yes, He did; and they 
have been going to Him ever since, baptized or 
not baptized. Earth is dotted over with little 
mounds. Cave Hill is full of theni. Some of 
them, you know and I know, it was hard to part 
with. But not only is infant baptism not taught 
in the New Testament, either by precept or ex- 
ample, but it seems to be completely negatived by 



118 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the law of baptism. Notice. John commanded men 
to repent and be baptized, and a verse already read 
to you says, "They were baptized in Jordan, con- 
fessing their sins." Christ said, "Go teach all na- 
tions, baptizing them in the name of," etc. Peter 
and other apostles repeatedly said, "If thou be- 
lievest thou mayest be baptized." Thus, it appears 
that those who repent, those who confess, those who 
can be taught — these may be baptized. Have we any 
authority at all for baptizing any others? So much 
for what the New Testament says about baptism. 
Let us see what others say. 

I have had for years in my little library complete 
editions of the commentaries of Scott, an Episco- 
palian; Clarke, a Methodist, and Lange, a Lutheran, 
and professor of theology at the University of 
Bonn, edited by Schaff, a learned Presbyterian. 
In the preparation of this lecture it occurred to me 
to consult them on the subject of baptism, to see 
what they would say. So, turning to the famous 
Lange, in his comment on John's converts, Matt. 
3:6, I find him saying, "They were immersed in Jor- 
dan, confessing their sins." 

Clarke, on Romans 6:3-5, says: "It is probable 
that the apostle here alludes to the mode of bap- 
tism by immersion ; the whole body being put under 
the water, which seemed to say the man is drowned ; 
is dead, and when he came up out of the water he 
seemed to have a resurrection to life. The man is 
risen again; he is alive." 

Scott says: "John baptized only adults." Be- 
yond this he escapes the issue. 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 119 

Looking further, I find in Mosheim's "Church 
History", vol. 1, page 129, the following statement: 
"The sacrament of baptism was administered in 
this [the first] century in places prepared for that 
purpose, and was performed by immersion of the 
whole body in the baptismal font." 

The Schaff-Herzog "Encyclopedia of Religious 
Knowledge", vol. 1, page 200, says: "Baptism by 
immersion was the practice of the early church. 
Later, clinic baptism (baptism of the sick) was 
allowed, by pouring or sprinkling, but these latter 
were often regarded as not properly baptized." The 
same author adds: "The Council of Nemours, A. D. 
1284, limited sprinkling to cas^s of necessity. The 
Council of Ravenna, A. D. 1311, was the first to 
allow a choice between sprinkling and immersion. 
The practice first came into common use at the end 
of the thirteenth century. But in the Greek church 
immersion is insisted on as essential." The author 
adds: "Luther described the baptismal act as im- 
mersion, and derived taufe, German for baptize, 
from tief, deep; because what one baptized he sank 
tief (deep) in the water." The "Encyclopedia 
Britannica", vol. 3, page 351, states: "The Council 
of Ravenna, 1311 A. D., was the first council that 
legalized baptism by sprinkling, leaving it to the 
choice of the officiating minister." 

Chambers' Encyclopedia, article on baptism, says: 
"It is indisputable that in the primitive church the 
ordinary mode of baptizing was by immersion, in 
order to which baptisteries began to be erected in 
the third, perhaps in the second, century." 



120 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

The "Encyclopedia Americana", vol. 1. page 557, 
says: "In the time of the apostles the form of 
baptism was very simple. The person to be baptized 
was dipped in a river or vessel with the words which 
Christ ordered." And the same authority adds, 
"The Greek church as well as the Schismatics 
(they didn't mind what names they called us) re- 
tained the custom of immersing the whole body; 
but the Western church adopted in the thirteenth 
century the mode of baptism by sprinkling." Yes, 
and the Greek church and Schismatics retain the 
custom to this day. And — don't you think a 
Greek would know the meaning of a Greek word? 
Thus you perceive that not in the time of Christ, 
or the Apostles, or for one or two centuries there- 
after, was sprinkling employed at all, and not un- 
til the thirteenth century was it formally adopted. 

On the subject of Infant Baptism, in the same 
article already read from "There is no trace of 
Infant Baptism in the New Testament. All at 7 
tempts to deduce it from 1 Corinthians 1 :16 (bap- 
tism of households) must be given up." Again, 
"No time can be assigned to the beginning of in- 
fant baptism. It seems to have originated in the 
belief that baptism was necessary to salvation (a 
doctrine taught by Augustine and early writers), 
and gained ground gradually. It was opposed by 
Tertullian about the close of the second century. 
Augustine, Gregory Nazianzen, and Chrysostom had 
Christian mothers, but were not baptized until con- 
verted in early manhood. Thomas Aquinas insisted 
that while infants should be baptized for fear of 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 121 

death, adults should not be baptized until they 
were thoroughly indoctrinated, and these became 
the teachings of the Roman Catechism." Again: 
"Baptism presupposes a credible profession of faith. 
He who believeth and is baptized. All therefore 
capable of belief are eligible to baptism." 

Chambers' Encyclopedia, article on Baptism, 
says, "The first trace of infant baptism was in 
Irenaeus, who died in the early part of the third 
century;" that it was opposed by Tertullian, 
advocated by Cyprian, and in the fifth century 
became established as the general practice of the 
church. 

But why add proof to proof? I have not read 
a word from any Baptist author, unless Matthew, 
Mark and Luke are Baptist authors; and I might 
read such proofs for hours. I have given the 
words of the New Testament, the proofs of his- 
tory, the evidence of Luther, Lange, Clarke, Scott 
and Mosheim. I have pointed to the practice of 
the Greeks, who ought to know the meaning of 
Greek words. To all of these I might add the 
testimony of Geike and Dean Stanley, of the Epis- 
copal; Calvin, of the Presbyterian; Wesley, of the 
Methodist; Stuart of the Congregationalist, — all of 
them great lights of learning in their several de- 
nominations, and of the Roman Catholics, who say 
they changed the 'ordinance and had the right to 
change it. I could also bring many others. I could 
add proofs hour by hour. History and religious 
literature both swarm with them ; but if the proofs 
already given do not sustain the Baptist's view, 



122 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the Baptist's view must fall. But Baptists do not 
think that baptism is salvation. Not all the water 
in the brook, the lake, the rushing torrents of 
Niagara, can wash away the smallest stain of sin, 
Why then do we so carefully adhere to it? It is 
commanded. It is His to command; it is ours to 
obey. Obedience, then — not baptism only — what* 
ever form obedience takes. 

But some of our friends of other Christian 
churches classify the ordinances into essentials 
and non-essentials. This, the Baptist dares not do, 
not feeling sure what non-essentials are, if any- 
thing which Christ commanded is a non-essential. 

In drug stores I have seen harmless looking 
liquids, which one might drink if he were thirsty; 
but if there is a doubt about their being good for 
me I will not drink them. In travelling I have 
come to bridges where sign-boards in large letters 
said "Keep to the right." I might have been as 
safe upon the other side, but I always followed 
the directions. 

Once on the Alps I crossed a precipice where 
were two footways, each a single plank with hand- 
Tails. * They told me either one would bear my 
weight, but I chose the plank which seemed to be, 
the safest. 

In the making of an ark I do not see why oak 
or pine might not be just as good as shittim wood ; 
or why the length should be just two cubits and, 
a half, the breadth a cubit and a half, and a cubit 
and a half the height thereof. Why it should be 
overlaid with gold and not with silver or some 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 123 

other metal; why just eight rings, no more, no 
less, should be attached to it; why just ten cur- 
tains should be made of certain colors and of cer- 
tain size, and why they should be made of fine 
twined linen instead of silk or damask; why there 
should be just so many loops and taches; why 
those loops should all be blue (for I think red a 
prettier color) ; and why the taches should be 
made of brass instead of gold or silver. I find 
that these and many more conditions were all en- 
joined by God on Moses. To me they seem to be 
the merest non-essentials; but Moses did not think 
so, for he obeyed them to the letter. 

And so I think that when our Lord by example 
gave a form of baptism, — like Moses I think it 
best to keep the form he gave, although some other 
form may seem to be as good. 

I do as Moses did. I make the ark of shittim 
wood — not oak or hickory. I make the curtains 
just so long, so wide, and make them of twined 
linen, although to my mind silk or satin may be 
prettier. In other words, I do not drink the water 
that is doubtful, I take the right hand at the 
bridge, I choose the plank that is the safer. In 
common life you do the same. You always take 
the dollar or the bond all say is good in preference 
to the dollar or the bond there is a doubt about. 
All Christians say immersion is good baptism, some 
say that any other is not good. In this, as in all 
other things, I take the mode respecting which 
there can be no dispute. 

On the subject of communion I shall be very 



124 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

brief. In other ways perhaps the world is too 
indulgent to the Baptist. In this, the Baptists are 
too much abused. It is said that they refuse to 
other Christians admission to the table and there- 
fore are illiberal. Now the truth about communion 
is, the Baptists stand just where all other Christ- 
ians stand, Quakers alone excepted. 

The Methodist, the Presbyterian, the Episcopal- 
ian, the Congregationalist, all say that baptism 
must precede admission to the supper. The Bap- 
tist says the same. Thus far all are agreed. But 
the Baptist thinks the others have not been bap- 
tized. Here then the difference — not on the sup- 
per, but on baptism. And it would be a clearer 
way of putting it, — not close communion, but close 
baptism, for there only is where the difference is. 
Convince my Methodist or Presbyterian brother 
that there is no baptism but one, and that immer- 
sion, and he will hold to close communion, as they 
call it, too. 

But Baptists themselves are divided in opinion 
on this point. Some think that baptism is not 
prerequisite, but that all who love the Lord should 
be admitted to the table. Then, if admission to 
the table be a test of liberality, those Baptists are 
most liberal of all Christians, except the Quakers, 
who deny all water baptism. 

The Baptist thinks there is a future punishment; 
and if the Bible did not teach it, I should still, 
believe it true, because I know that sin is punished 
here, and see no reason why it should not be else- 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 125 

where, — the more so, too, because here, often, it 
escapes. 

In looking backward for the origin of Baptists, 
we shall find them, not in courts and palaces, but 
in the hidden caves of history, — less a figure than 
a fact. The footprints of the Baptist may be 
traced through time. He is no foreigner in any 
land where Christ is known, nor is his faith in 
any obsolete. But Baptists lay no claim to Apos- 
tolic Succession. They could not prove it if they 
did; and I see no good that it would do them if 
they could. Succession would not prove continu- 
ance in truth. If succession can be shown through- 
out the first half dozen generations of the Christian 
era, it must be in some book not open to the general 
reader. Yet, though no such claim is made, I 
think that if the pages of the past had been lighted 
by the press as now, and through the so-called 
Christian centuries religious liberty had lived, the 
tracing would be easy — not perhaps absolute suc- 
cession, a matter of no moment, but from first to 
now, continuous existence. Not, a chain without 
a missing link; but, dotted all along the Christian 
centuries, a people holding to the faith distinctive 
of those now known as Baptists: namely, that the, 
Scriptures are the only rule of faith and practice; 
that immersion is the only mode of baptism; that 
only those professing faith should be baptized ; that 
each individual church is independent in itself; 
that church and state should never be united; and 
that every man should be allowed to worship God 
according to the dictates of his conscience. 



126 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

That in the misty pages of the past such a people 
may be dimly seen — now here, now there — some- 
times apparently extinct, yet ever reappearing in 
spots and places widely separated, like broken leads 
or jutting rocks which crop out here and there in 
gaps of broken mountain chains; that in the in- 
tellectual midnight of the middle ages such a peo- 
ple may be traced, shielded by no law, tolerated 
by no nation, a social outcast, an heretical pariah, 
and an object of a universal hate, known under 
such various sobriquets as obloquy, detraction, and 
contempt might give to them — that such a people 
lived in Holland, Germany and England is well 
known; that they proclaimed the faith just stated, 
so far as men confronted with the gibbet and the 
stake might venture to proclaim; and that they 
lived it, suffered for it, died for it is equally well 
known. That there were shades of difference in 
their belief, as there are shades of difference among 
Baptists now, is doubtless true; but that the tenets 
held by them and us are practically the same, I 
will assume is undisputed. They were the heroes 
of the past, shining in its darkness like fixed stars, 
now and then appearing between obscuring clouds, 
but no less surely there because sometimes unseen. 
They were the hewers of the rocks that built the 
lighthouses of God's truth and shaped the pyra- 
mids of liberty in whose protective shadow you 
and I now safely kneel and freely speak. Watered 
by their tears and fertilized by blood, they planted 
trees whose seeds were borne on friendly winds to 
every clime. The inflow of the Renaissance 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 127 

brought liberty to some; but hatred of the Bap- 
tists had survived the loss of letters, and for them 
the purifying fires of the Reformation, only welded 
added griefs and forged new fetters to oppress. 
Under the head of Mennonites, the Schaff-Herzog 
"Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge," after say- 
ing that they banished from their worship all fea- 
tures not found in the apostolic church, adds: 
"They were thrown into prison and their property 
confiscated. In 1635 the magistrates of Zurich un- 
dertook to compel them by force to enter the Re- 
formed Church. Bern sold a number of them as 
slaves to the King of Sardinia who worked them in 
his galleys. In the course of seventy years all were 
expelled from Zurich, Schaffhausen and St. Gall." 
The same authority speaks of Anabaptists as a 
"violent sect that now and then appeared through- 
out the middle ages" — that parents refusing to 
have their children baptized were threatened with 
expulsion, and in the autumn of 1527 there began 
a persecution, during which hundreds of them were 
massacred and many were thrown into dungeons. 

The outburst of the great Lutheran Reformation, 
and the creation of the Established Church of 
England, from which" sprang out that great body 
of earnest Christians known as Methodists (and 
others), are all within the pale of recent history. 
The first two of these great outbreaks protested 
against the errors of the Church of Rome, and 
thereby became known in history as Protestants. 
In this sense Baptists are not Protestants, for they 
never thus protested, they never thus appeared. 



128 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Before the Reformation was they were. Hunted 
from place to place, their interest was in hiding 
history, not in making it. Mosheim, who hated 
them, denied them everything but age. On this he 
says (vol. 4, p. 439), "The origin of that sect, 
which acquired the denomination of Anabaptists 
by their administering anew the rite of baptism to 
those who came over to their communion, is hid in 
the remote depths of antiquity." They were called 
Anabaptists because they baptised anew those who 
came to them from other churches if they had not 
been immersed; just as they do now. 

On page 441 he says: "The Anabaptists maintain 
there is no command of Christ in favor of infant 
baptism." They say so now. Again, same volume, 
chapter 3: "They did not look on those who were 
baptized in a state of infancy as rendered by the 
sacrament true members of the Christian church, 
and therefore insisted on their being rebaptized in 
order to their being received into the communion 
of the Anabaptists." They do so now. Again, he 
says, "They sought to conceal their practices be- 
cause of their apprehension of reviving the hatred 
and severities which had formerly pursued them." 
Plainly, they were not writing history, and for the 
best of reasons. 

As to the Mennonites he says: "The odious name 
of Anabaptists is just as applicable to the modern 
Mennonites as it was to the sect from whom they 
descend, since the best and wisest of them main- 
tain, in conformity with the principle of the ancient 
Anabaptists, that the baptism of infants is desti- 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 129 

tute of validity, and consequently are very careful 
in rebaptizing their proselytes, notwithstanding 
their having been baptized in their tender years in 
other Christian churches." That is their practice 
still. 

The learned writer repeatedly speaks of Anabap- 
tists and Mennonites as the same, and says the 
latter claim to be descended from the Waldenses, 
the Petrobrussans, and other ancient sects. His 
generosity at one time gets the better of his pre- 
judice, for he says: "Many of those who adhered 
to the . . . Anabaptists were men of upright 
intentions and sincere piety, who were seduced into 
that mystery of fanaticism and iniquity by a laud- 
able desire of reforming the corrupt state of reli- 
gion." 

I have quoted freely from Mosheim, believing 
that his ecclesiastical history is everywhere re- 
ceived as standard. Plainly he is not partial to 
Baptists, but he identifies them with Mennonites, 
Anabaptists, Waldenses, Petrobrussans and "other 
ancient sects." Thus he garlands them with the 
laurels of antiquity. 

Turning to more recent writers, I will read a 
short extract from Ridpath's United States His- 
tory, chapter 22. Speaking of Roger Williams, one 
of the first Baptist preachers to come to America, 
and whose name is famous in the early history of 
Rhode Island, he says: "Roger Williams belonged 
to that radical body of dissenters known as Ana- 
baptists. By them the validity of infant baptism 
was denied." 



130 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Thus does history repeatedly identify the Bap- 
tists of the present with the Anabaptists, the Men- 
nonites, and other ancient sects known under such 
various names as their despisers choose to give 
them. But I care not by what names they have 
been known. A rose is still a rose though called 
a poppy. 

The "Encyclopedia Britannica", vol. 3, p. 353, al- 
so identifies the Baptists with the Anabaptists, and 
in vol. 16, p. 547 states that Mahomet obtained 
some of his ideas on religion from the Jews and 
some from the Baptists. 

On this point (origin of the Baptists) I will 
weary you with only one more short extract from 
the Brown Tyler "Encyclopedia of Religious 
Knowledge'', in reference to a book published in 
Holland in 1819, a Church history, prepared by Dr. 
Ypeij, a professor of theology in the University of 
Groningen, and Rev. J. J. Dermout, Chaplain to the 
King of the Netherlands, both members of the 
Dutch Reformed Church. From it I read the fol- 
lowing: "The Baptists, who were formerly called 
Anabaptists, and in later times Mennonites, were 
the original Waldenses. The Baptists may be con- 
sidered the only Christian community which has 
stood since the apostles." 

So we have traced the Baptists back far into the 
cloudy past. But still I admit their origin is buried 



*I am indebted to my friend, the Rev. Dr. Harvey, whose able 
sermon on the "Baptists in History" is out of print (but is 'soon 
to be reissued), for the information that the original of "this work 
is in the Royal Library of Berlin, "History of the Dutch Reformed 
Church by A. Ypeij, Doctor and Professor of Theology at Gronin- 
gen," s vols. 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 131 

in obscurity, So, also, is the beginning of the Az- 
tecs and the Aborigines of America, with this 
difference however. We can see a point from 
which, to state it modestly, the Baptists may have 
come. If they did not start with the apostles, 
when did they start? You cannot point to any 
other time, and they are here beyond a doubt. 
And yet I do not lay much stress on origin. A 
stream which at its source is pure may lose its 
purity as it descends. A better proof than origin 
is the Book. Lay the practice of the Baptists along 
side of it. If they differ take the Book and let 
the Baptists go. 

Earth is no stranger to religious wars. It has 
seen the fagot lighted by Puritan and Presbyter- 
ian, by Protestant and Catholic alike. It has seen 
the Huguenots mown down by thousands. It has 
seen the curling smoke and lurid flame of hate 
make desolate the fairest fields of Europe. But the 
leaves of history are searched in vain for a single 
scaffold raised, a single fagot lighted, a single 
sword unsheathed in persecution by Baptist hand. 
Driven from place to place, some of these hated 
Baptists sought refuge in that land whose boast 
has been that when a slave set foot upon its shores 
his shackles fell. Alas, that only limbs should be 
unfettered, and soul and conscience still be bound. 
Their fate might ever have remained unknown but 
for the genius of a Froude, who, raking a coal 
from out the embers of the forgotten fires of 
Smithfield, wrote with it their epitaph in words 
that darken English history: "They died to help 



132 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

to pay the purchase price of England's freedom." 
Ever the enemies of persecution, the Baptists have 
forever stood for an unfettered conscience and an 
open Bible. Nor poverty, nor prison, nor scourge, 
nor torch, nor sword — and all of these they suffer- 
ed — has ever shaken them from this. And when no 
longer they shall stand against oppression, let them 
die out, Almighty God; let them be unremembered ; 
let them be blotted from the page of history, un- 
worthy of their great inheritance, unworthy of the 
name they bear. 

But while I think the Baptist's faith is nearest 
to the pattern, we are no monopolists of goodness. 
Indeed I fear we are no better than our neighbors. 
Nay, if by its fruits the tree is known, it may be 
we should suffer by comparison. We have had our 
Bunyan, and our Carey, and our Judson, In ear- 
lier times we had our martyrs. But the dazzle of 
a martyr's crown may mitigate the terrors of the 
stake, and the prospect of celestial robes invite the 
wrappings of a transient name. 

The world has not been destitute of heroes, but 
the greatest of them was not Grant, nor Lee, nor even 
Stonewall Jackson; nor Wellington, nor Nelson, 
nor Napoleon, nor Hannibal, nor Caesar, nor Alex- 
ander; nor he who wrote upon the scroll of fame 
in glittering red, Miltiades and Marathon; nor 
even he who, with his brave three hundred, stood 
guard before the passway into Sparta and forever 
shed a lustre on the name of man. Not for even 
him were greenest laurels grown or brightest gar- 
lands woven in the fields of immortality, — but 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 133 

rather unto him who, since the fearful scene upon 
Golgotha, when every cheek had blanched at 
Mercy's call and every lip refused to speak, when 
every fiber of humanity recoiled, and horror lifted 
its repelling voice, and every tie of family and 
friend withheld, to him alone who, when all others 
shrank, stooped low to kiss the rod, and welcom- 
ing the fearful baptism of loathsomeness, bent 
'neath the burden of the cross and gave himself 
a living sacrifice in martyrdom, not to the mercy 
of the flame, but the martyrdom of leprosy. 

To charge a battery is easy; to risk the crush 
of a locomotive to save a child is impulse ; to leap 
into the sea to save a drowning man is human; but 
the calm, deliberate resolve to live and eat with 
reeking, putrid flesh, which even mothers have out- 
cast, to live with it, to eat with it, and flinging 
away all hope, to die of it; to do this willingly, 
to ask for it, to wish for it, to choose it in one's 
thought, and for their sakes, the lepers' sakes and 
Christ's, is more than human. And if the fagot 
and the hemlock are forgiven for the liberty they 
bought, if the fury of the sanhedrim is forgotten 
in the triumphs of the cross, the inquisition is 
atoned for by the Christ-like sacrifice of Father 
Damian. 

No, we Baptists have, I think, the nearest to 
the faith of the New Testament; and you, the 
Church of the Messiah, have your beautiful chari- 
ties, your culture, your charming music, and your 
pulpit eloquence ; but neither you nor we can boast 
monopoly of goodness. God help us to do better. 



134 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

I have tried to tell what Baptists think. It fol- 
lows, if they are right, some of you must be wrong. 

But heaven was not made for Baptists only. If! 
ever I get there, whatever and wherever it may be, 
where light supernal crowns a cloudless sky, 
where stars lie out like islands in an ocean, where 
muffled drum, nor tolling bell, nor sob, nor sigh is 
heard, nor sorrow dims the eye, I think that I 
shall see the wooly head of Africa, the tawny skin 
of Asia, the fair complexion of the North, the sun- 
browned faces of the South, the high cheeked 
bones of Aboriginal America, and the facial marks 
of Ishmael and Isaac — not all of them, but such of 
them as stumbling in the dark, yet struggled up- 
ward as best they could toward the light they saw, 
and therefore were included in the muster roll of 
those for whom He prayed, "Father, I would that 
those whom thou hast given me be with me where 
I am" And I think, too, I shall see some there 
from worlds we know not of — worlds near, worlds 
far, worlds so remote the fartherest reach of 
earthly glass has not disclosed. 

You say this is not Baptist doctrine? No, it is 
not. The Baptist stops where revelation stops. 
But men will think. They cannot help it. Nor 
you, nor I, nor Baptists know it all. Hemmed in 
by time and sense we cannot think the meaning of 
eternal. We cannot think a line without begin- 
ning, we cannot think a line without an end. We 
cannot think a space without a limit; yet we can- 
not think a limit to pervading space. Granting a 
God eternal, in all the boundless realms of never- 



THE POSITION OF BAPTISTS. 135 

ending birth and death of planets and of suns, we 
cannot think a time when worlds were not, we can- 
not think a time when worlds shall never be. 

I know not if each star that floats in mystery- 
has listened to the lurings of a tempter; I know 
not if each orb that glitters in its airy path has. 
known the ravages of sin; I know not if each 
comet in its daring flight has felt a throb of hu- 
man sorrow or been watered by the tears of grief; 
I know not if each planet in its ceaseless whirl 
has lifted to its lips the mingled cup of agony and 
joy that earth has drunk in bitterness and tears; 
I know not if each scattered world, flung out from 
a Creator's hand has felt the pressure of a Savior's 
foot, has held a garden of Gethsemane and knelt 
before a streaming cross ; I know not if the systems 
that coruscate around the throne of God and break 
the stillness of eternity have felt the breathings of 
a deathless immortality, but this I know, that in 
his helplessness and hopelessness wheresoever man 
is found throughout the length and breadth and 
boundlessness of space, there love has raised an 
altar, there hope has found an anchorage, there 
mercy holds an olive branch, there redemption 
offers a Redeemer, for there is Fatherhood, for 
there is God. 



WHAT THINK YOU OF THE PULPIT? 

Desiring to know why in all our cities the 

churches are so little sought by men, the writer 

asked the question of the first fifty intelligent 

business and professional men he casually met, 

"What is your opinion of the pulpit?" All of 

their replies are not here given, nor are the exact 

words of any. But, sifting and condensing, the 

following are believed to fairly represent the 

views of all. 

# # # 

I am afraid that business men think very little 
of the pulpit. Not that they under-value it, simply 
they give little thought to it. The man who man-, 
ages his factory or store is content to let his 
preacher operate the church. There is no lack of 
confidence, and as he pays his money too, no lack 
of liberality. He goes to church on Sunday, not 
to see if things are going right, but because it is 
the thing to do, — just as he eats his breakfast 
when it comes time for breakfast, whether he has 
appetite or not. With the sayings of the pulpit 
he thinks he is familiar. Hearing them anew, his 
mind perhaps reviews a week of toil; or, possibly 
forms plans for future use. Sometimes he sleeps. 
Does he love his preacher? Yes. He loves him, 
will stand by him, will back him up in anything 

136 



WHAT THINK YOU OF THE PULPIT? 137 

he wants to do — will fight for him if need be and 
defend him to the last. This is the average busi- 
ness man and this is the feeling the average 
business man has toward the pulpit. 



I have sympathy for the preacher, especially the 
young one. He has a harder time than any other 
man. He has to meet the praise of women, the 
snares of Satan, and all his native vanity. 

That was a fine sermon that you preached, the 
devil whispers. The captivated woman says: You 
got out all the points. If the people did not un- 
derstand it, that was not your fault. And there 
were flights of eloquence and of poetic beauty few 
men have ever reached. 

With thoughts like these, knowing they are 
wrong, the preacher falls upon his knees and prays, 
"Oh God, forgive, and still make me useful." 

Poor preacher! He would wear the chains of 
Paul, and if need be, fight with beasts at Ephesus. 
He may curb the promptings of his heart; he may, 
perhaps, defy the wiles of Satan, but the taste of 
the forbidden fruit of flattery presented by the 
fascinations of an Eve intoxicates. 

Can he withstand the rest — and this? 
# # * 

The business of the pulpit is to teach men how 
to live, so that in the language of the young man 
in the Scripture they may inherit eternal life. 
When the pulpit does this it fulfills its mission. 
I think that is doing it. 



138 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

What do I think of the pulpit? Well, I am a 
member of the church and go there every Sunday. 
No, I think that many sermons are like the birds. 
They fly around and light on nobody. 

If the preacher studied man, his ways of think- 
ing, and his ways of doing, he would know better 
how to point his arrows. "Thou art the man" 
was a short sermon, but it hit the mark. 

Sometimes the preacher needs the advice that 
Cromwell gave his soldiers — "Fire low." I re- 
member that when a boy in Scotland it was the 
custom of the people to take a Bible to the kirk 
to turn to passages the preacher might refer to. 
I remember that my mother once returning said,, 
it was not my Bible that I needed, it was my 

dictionary. 

# # # 

Perhaps it was not meant, but there was a les- 
son in the answer of the workman on the pike 
who, kneeling at his work for comfort and con- 
venience, was accosted by a preacher with, "Ah, 
Mike, I wish that I could break the stony hearts 
of men as you do the rocks that lie about you." 
"Perhaps you could, sor," was the reply, "Av 

you did it on your knase." 

# * # 

The preaching that ought to be is the preach- 
ing Louis Fourteenth meant when he said to 
Massillon, "When I hear others preach, I am 
pleased with them. When I hear you, while I can 
find nothing to object to in the preacher, I am 



WHAT THINK YOU OF THE PULPIT? 139 

dissatisfied with myself.' ' I never heard John A. 
Broadus preach without feeling as I went away, a 
wish to be a better man. 



The weakness of the preacher is jealousy. He 
cannot bear to hear other preachers praised. But 
that is only natural. He is but human. Among 
my clerks I long since found it will not do to lavish 
praise on any one of them. The preacher is but 

human. 

* # # 

Some think the pulpit is less consecrated now 
than formerly. I do not think so. The inquisition 
is abolished. The horse-race parson is no longer 
seen. The pulpit now is purer and more learned 
than it has ever been. The satires of Voltaire 
would never have been written if the pulpit of his 
time had been the pulpit of today. 

Illustrations are useful to the preacher. And 
it is a wonder that he does not use them more. 
When he does, however, he should take care that 
they are true to life. To illustrate the miserly 
instinct in man, I heard a preacher tell a story 
of a banker who starved himself to death, while at 
the same time he had untold millions of bank notes 
hidden in a bag which hung around his neck. Now, 
that banker may have been a miser, and he may 
have starved himself to death, but no man of 
sense, except that preacher, would believe he car- 
ried untold millions in a bag about his neck. 



140 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

The preacher likes to tell the story of the drown- 
ing man when everything that he has ever done 
comes up before him. Now I had that experience 
once, and the only thing I thought about before 
I lapsed into unconsciousness was how I might get 
out of that confounded hole. 

* # * 

They are not in earnest. You think they are? 
Well, then, how is it that the stage with its known 
fictions is more attractive than the pulpit with its 
serious truths? How is it that the actor with his 
mere imaginings affects the people more than the 
preacher with his stern realities. Surely the actor 
has no more tragedy than Calvary. 

vP -w ■w 

We need no preacher to tell us that there is a 
God, and that God is merciful. What further can 
we know — what further do we need to know? 

* # # 

I am here with no contrivance on my part. I 
reckon He who brought me here will in the end 

take care of me. 

# # * 

My duties absorb all my time. I do not find 
that Jesus said a man should go to church, and I 
do not go there. 

# # # 

I think the young preacher too often makes 
the mistake of carrying his text-books into the pul- 
pit. Fancy a business man quoting Homer in his 
counting-house. What the people want to know 



WHAT THINK YOU OF THE PULPIT? 141 

is what the jailer wished to know — what must I 
do to be saved? 



To say that God is good and God is great and 
man is sinful becomes tiresome by frequent repe- 
tition. Of course these things are true, and they 
should be told, but there are different ways of tell- 
ing things. The novel writer tells truths, but con- 
trives to tell them in a way that makes his work 
attractive. Why can not a preacher do as well as 
the romancer? 

# # * 

Lazy? No. When you thinK of what the preach- 
er has to do it is no wonder. He must seek the sick, 
visit his congregation, attend a funeral or two 
every week, and half a dozen unimportant meet- 
ings. He must heed the cry of poverty, listen to 
complaints, patch up petty quarrels, stir his dea- 
cons up and everybody else; try to get places for 
sons of widowed mothers, and men who are out of 
work; reply to letters from all sorts of persons — 
none of whom he knows — all of which should be di- 
rected to the postmaster, a real estate agent or a 
chief of police. If a married man, and commonly 
he is, he must give some attention to his family. All 
of this he has to do. And besides, prepare two 
sermons, a prayer-meeting address, and, perhaps, a 
speech or two for other public meetings. No origi- 
nality? Of course not. How can you expect it? 
One sermon, thought over for a whole week, with 
nothing else to do, is enough for any man. 



142 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

A negro servant in my pastor's family stole a 
gown from the wardrobe of her mistress to be bap- 
tized in. I think the colored preachers ought to 
preach more common honesty. And if I may judge 
from what I see around me, I think the other 

preachers ought to preach it, too. 

# # * 

I was a stranger in a strange city. I had a sense 
of guilt and sin. I could not bear it. From church 
to church I wandered, but found no relief. I heard 
learned disquisitions on the prophets, on the Spirit, 
on God, on what man ought to be and what man 
might be, but none of these brought peace. It 
was bread I wanted, but everywhere I only found 
a stone. In the end I came to the conclusion 
that the pulpit does not believe one-half of what 
the Bible says, and hardly anything of what it says 

itself. 

# * # 

One of the preacher's great mistakes is this: 
He sticks at little things, and often harmless things, 
and lets important things escape. He seems to see 
no difference between a friendly game of cards — 
as harmless as a game of checkers — and the games 
the gamblers deal. Cards are cards. It is all one 
to him. On the other hand, he has no condemna- 
tion for the man who cheats his neighbor, provided 
only that the cheat was sanctioned by the laws of 

good society. 

# * # 

I am a collector. There go two men who owe re- 
tail merchants little bills, which they can pay, but 



WHAT THINK YOU OF THE PULPIT? 143 

will not pay, because the debts can not be made by- 
law. Both are church members. Don't you know 
tne majority of failures are frauds — where men, 
while hollow, keep on buying goods, until they 
can no longer buy them, and then compromise and 
start anew? When the failure comes everybody 
says: "Poor Mr. A. Good Members. I am so sorry 
for him." I say, sorry for poor Mr. Creditor, who 
has been swindled. When the creditors' meeting 
comes, what then? There it is. Bad mess. But 
what can be done about it? Twenty-five cents? — 
all right, let it go. The member of the church 
should have a higher credit with the merchant 
than any other man; but has he? Do you not 
know the churches are lined with cases of this 
sort? What difference is it to the merchant who 
is robbed, whether he is robbed in a genteel way 
society and law alike approve, or at all events 
do not disapprove, or by the coarser forms of theft 
society and law alike condemn; whether he is 
robbed by a member of the church or by a cheva- 
lier of the highway. There are more thieves out- 
side of prison walls than in, and many of them are 
members of the church. When the pulpit learns 
a lesson on this line and acts upon it, the outside 

world will gain respect for it. 
* * # 

The theory of the pulpit is all wrong. The 
preachers say that we owe love, obedience, 
and everything to God, because He created and 
placed us here. I say that for those very reasons, 
and because He did it without consulting us, He 



14:4 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

owes everything to us. Then, too, they say — and 
they are all agreed in this — that He created us with 
sinful inclinations, and yet punishes us for sinning. 
In other words, He lays a trap for us we can not 
but fall into, and then smashes us for falling into 
it. This is to make of God a monster, and I do 
not think He is. Do I think that it should be 
abolished? Well, not exactly; no. But between 
the pulpit and the truth, I think there are some 
missing links the preachers have not yet discov- 
ered. 

I don't know much about the church, but my 
nearest neighbor is a deacon. Across the street a 
preacher lives. They are both good neighbors, 
When my house caught fire they both rushed in 
to help me. When typhoid was bad out our way 
one of them took pains to tell me about preventives, 
but neither of them ever said a word to me about 
hell. One of them has been long married, but has 
no children, and he and his wife have taken a great 
fancy to my little girl, and would like to have her 
with them always. I think if they believed there 
was a hell they would like to save her anyway. 

j& js* m. 

Yes, I think there must be punishment beyond 
for crime that is not punished here. But that pun- 
ishment is endless — common sense forbids it. The 

love of God forbids it ; it can not be. 
# # * 

Bring them up in piety? But what if they are 
willful? You know the sons of godly men are 



WHAT THINK YOU OF THE PULPIT? 145 

often outcasts. Were not the corruptions of the 
sons of Samuel the reasons why the Israelites, dis- 
gusted with the rule of prophetism, clamored for 
a king? If the favored prophet of the Lord could 
not train up his sons in righteousness, who can be 
sure of doing it? Here today, according to the 
papers, a preacher's son is arrested for the forging 

of a check. 

# # # 

Dives and Lazarus, knowing each other here, 
knew each other on the other side. But Dives, 
" being in torments . . . cried and said, 
Father Abraham, have mercy on me and send 
Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his finger in 
water and cool my tongue, for I am tormented 
in this flame." Think of that. Think of it as if 
it were your wife or child! And who can be sure 
that it is not ! No, you can not — dare not think of 
it. To dwell upon it, up to a point of reaching 
reality, would send you to a madhouse. And this 
says nothing of what sort of happiness, the heaven 
of happiness, would be to you; with you the Laza- 
rus, and your wife or child the Dives. Do I be- 
lieve the Scriptures? Yes, I do believe the Scrip- 
tures. They may have hidden meanings. I do not 
know. In time they may have been perverted. I 
do not know. But the Scriptures say that God is 
love and God is mercy. This is neither love nor 
mercy. The most revengeful man that ever lived 
would not subject his greatest enemy to this. I 
tell you it is all nonsense. No thoughtful man — 
much less a thoughtful woman with the instincts 



146 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

of a mother — would permit her child to live, with, 
the barest possibility of an eternal hell of suffering 
when the breaking of ''the silver cord" would in- 
sure that child eternity of happiness. An eternal 
hell of suffering being true, who would dare to be 
a father, unless determined in advance to make 
his child a gift to heaven? But men are not de- 
termined so, for in sickness, all do their utmost 
to prolong their children's lives. Plainly this 
teaching of the pulpit is , not believed by pulpit 

or pew — or anyone. 

# # # 

To me the strongest argument against a hell is 
the fact that for a thousand years God led His 
people and never told them that there was one. 
For their disobediences He threatened them, but 
all His threats related to their earthly life. If 
there is a hell in which souls of unforgiven sinners 
live eternally in torment He let His own peculiar 
people live and die in ignorance of it. I do not be- 
lieve that He would do that. Therefore, I do not 
believe there is a hell. 

And yet, call it what you will, God being just, 
there must be punishment beyond for crimes un- 
punished here and unatoned for. 



AN APOLOGY FOR THE ERRORS OF 
THE BIBLE. 

When one suddenly falls upon something that 
surprises him, and perhaps a little bit disgusts him, 
he is very apt to want to say something. I feel 
that way just now. 

I have just read an editorial in the Independ- 
ent, a religious magazine — at least it is understood 
to be — that must have escaped general observa- 
tion, for I have seen no mention of it anywhere; 
and yet such an editorial, in such a magazine, 
would naturally attract attention. Briefly, it is 
an apology for the errors of the Bible; and a de- 
fense of Christianity, or what is left of it when 
most of it is cut out and set adrift. I quote from 
it as follows: 

"A hundred years ago. ... It was easy 
enough to believe in miracles . . . but things 
are very different now . . . the trend of 
thought is away from the Biblical miracles. . . . 
Geology and biology together have been too much 
for the elder form of faith and they have won the 
day against it. . . . History finds no place 
for Noah's Ark; Jonah's whale and the fiery fur- 
nace of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego recede 
into religious romance. ... It is plain to 
everyone that the process and the argument which 

147 



148 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

have undermined the Old Testament miracles are 
being applied and will be still more applied to the 
miracles of the New Testament. Their unlikelihood 
under the rule of law is the primary presumption 
against them. While criticism can hardly deny 
that Paul believed in the bodily resurrection of 
our Lord, it declares he knew nothing of the virgin 
birth. . . . That this recession of faith in 
miracles is already considerable even in churches 
that repeat the Apostles' creed there can be no 
doubt. . . . Whether Christ was born of a 
virgin or not, whether His flesh and blood and bones 
rose from the sepulchre or not, whether four hun- 
dred believers saw Him ascend into heaven or not, 
. . . we yet know that the Christian religion 
rests on the Sermon on the Mount. So if the mir- 
acles should one of these days have to go we should 
still hold fast to the duty, the obligation, the source, 
the character, the new heart, the holy life of love, 
and should still believe that we had retained 
all that was vital in Christianity, all that the mir- 
acles were used to support." 

Well, well! Whenever anything strange and 
sudden ever struck Aunt Mandy, she used to say, 
' 'Did you ever!" Well, no; I didn't. Did you? 
The Christian religion rests upon the Sermon on the 
Mount! Why, you used to tell me it was upon 
repentance and faith. 

The miracles of the Old Testament have gone and 
you didn't know it! Don't you think you are a 
little slow? And the miracles of the New Testa- 
ment. Why, they are going, too. Going under 



AN APOLOGY FOR THE ERRORS OF THE BIBLE. 149 

"the rule of law," which "is the primary presump- 
tion against them." I wonder what the secondary 
presumption is. And the Apostles' creed is run- 
ning at a discount even among the churches where 
they say it every day. And the writer adds, 
"Others in various churches tell us, as did the Dean 
of Ripon the other day, that our Lord healed dis- 
eases much as some Schlatter today heals hysteria." 
That looks bad for the Dean's See. Don't you 
think it does? Business going to the bow-wows. 
Danger of receivership. The Dean should sell out 
his canonical wardrobe before it is too late. 

Paul was fooled about the resurrection. What 
a simpleton he was. But they didn't fool him on 
the virgin birth, did they? He never heard of that 
at all. 

So, the miracles of the Old Testament have gone, 
the miracles of the New Testament are going. Why 
not let them all go together? They will go — sure. 
That is the "trend of thought." 

But, then, what have we left? And how about 
us? Paul said. "If Christ be not raised your faith 
is vain, ye are yet in your sins." Now that we 
find that Christ was not raised, where do we stand? 
And what about Paul ? 

Then what becomes of Jesus who every now and 
then pointed to His miracles as proofs of His divine 
mission — what about Him? "Believe me for the very 
work's sake." The miracles gone, the virgin birth 
gone, the resurrection gone, the ascension gone — 
well, then, Jesus must go, too. But what does it 
matter? We still have the Sermon on the Mount. 



150 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

We have been trusting in a Savior to fill up the 
gaps and smooth down the bad places for us, but 
now you see we have no use for one. The Sermon 
on the Mount does all that for us. Jesus wasn't 
much of a Savior anyway. He was just a man 
like us, who was greatly lied about. He never did 
any of the things they said He did, and never said 
anything worth mentioning, except the Sermon on 
the Mount, and I shouldn't be surprised if we find 
after a while that He didn't say that. The Jews 
crucified Him in the end — at least that is what they 
say — and if He had anything to do with all those 
frauds I do not blame the Jews so much. 

The book is gone; that's certain. But somehow 
— I don't know just exactly how it is — I can't help 
wishing that it wasn't that way. There was a heap 
of comfort in that old book. It told me where those 
are who used to be here, but are not here now. 
The new way doesn't tell me anything about them. 
Nor does it tell me anything about God a Father. 
Maybe there is no God a Father, only a great king, 
I don't care about God a king. I want a God who 
is a father. I crave a father's love, a father's pity. 
This does not seem to give it to me. Then, too, 
when I go wrong it seems to me I want a Savior. 
I do not find a Savior in the Sermon on the Mount. 
It is beautiful, that Sermon on the Mount, very; 
but it does not seem to fit my case. Of course the 
new way must be right, but somehow, I like the 
old way best. 



IF A MAN DIE SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? IF 
SO, WHERE AND HOW? 

It is said that one of the walls of the Delphian 
Temple displayed in large and deep-cut characters 
the words, "Consider thy end and future. " And 
this, if it meant our ending here and future else- 
where, has always been the supremest object of 
man's thought. 

"Whatever the reason be, death has its terrors. 
Neither the pulpit nor philosophy has quite removed 
them. Man doubts and questions. He ever did, 
perhaps he ever will. But how can we explain the 
puzzles of this life, if we deny another? Some live 
and die in sorrow undeserved; some, unrepentant, 
live and die in crime. If this be all, where is the 
law of compensation? Where is the adjustment? 
If there be life beyond, what then? The believer 
seeks to know what shall be; the unbeliever dreads 
what may be, and these invest the Where and How 
with interest not less than that surrounding the 
great question of the life itself. 

Perhaps no subject has been more variously ap- 
prehended by those who accept it than the question 
of a future life. But if the Indian finds in it a 
tomahawk and hunting ground; the Mohammedan, 
all that charms and gratifies the senses; and the 

151 



152 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Christian, a heavenly home of rest, they all agree in 
this, at least: That somewhere beyond the impene- 
trable — whether near or far — somewhere there is 
a place where man shall live again. 

Cicero speaks of this life as a loan to us by nature, 
payable upon demand — the only life that we can 
claim as ours being that we shall enjoy hereafter 
with the gods. 

Plato asks the question: "If death succeeds to 
life, why should not life succeed to death?" His 
argument to prove a life beyond provoking the pro- 
verbial reply, "Plato, thou reasonest well," seems 
to be a mere uplift of speculation based upon con- 
jectured pre-existence of the soul, and probably did 
not convince himself. Quoting the words of one who 
lives among us, 

"hard to tell 
If Plato reasoned well." 

So has it always been. Faith fluctuates, doubt 
balances belief, hope nerves against despair; while 
the future, brightening with cheer or darkening in 
shadow, mingles its colors in the web of every 
thoughtful life, and weaves therein its shifting 
threads of disbelief, or earnest expectation. 

Shortly before his death Augustus asked of those 
around him if they did not think that he had acted 
well his part in life, and on receiving such an answer 
as his great achievements merited, "Let me then," 
said he, "go off the stage with such applause as 
you bestow upon the best of Roman actors." But 
whither did he go? Alas, we can but say, God's 
mercy spans the boundless universe. 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 153 

And, if beyond the boundless may be found 

A place where sorrow and where sin abound, 

A place where sighs and penitential 

Are upward lifted for relief, 

There, too, shall prayer and pardon meet, 

And peace be found at mercy's feet. 

That was a peculiar expression of Frederick the 
Great — a sobriquet sometimes bestowed by writers, 
it would seem, to show how little greatness one had 
really had — and had a deeper meaning in it than 
was intended when, in answer to the remonstrances 
of his grenadiers against a course that could but 
lead to certain death, he exclaimed, "What, you 
rascals! Would you go on living forever?" Per- 
haps they would. Who knows? 

Doubt hangs thick draperies around the mind and 
cloisters it in narrow cells. The abattoir of Moses 
that stained the plains of Sinai, and later, bright- 
ened in a cross, still sheds for some but feeble light 
on destiny. It is still a cloudy pillar only most 
men follow. Yet, you and I must find our way 
along the valley. Whether by nature or by God, 
the decree is entered, the mandate is in force. 

If I am asked if I have something new to offer 
on this all-important theme, I answer, No ! For nine- 
teen hundred years no added light has fallen on the 
tomb. Man comes and goes. The mysteries of 
whence and where and why remain. In other ways 
man gains in knowledge. Here is no progress. 

We look around in vain inquiry. We ask the 
ocean "What of man? Is he eternal as thou seem- 
est to be?" It answers in its billows as they rise and 
fall, "We only know of change.' ' 



154 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

We seek the aid of science. Its students tell us 
life began a germ; by evolution it developed into 
its present state. But, to our question of what shall 
be, its sage professors hang their heads in dumb per- 
plexity. 

We bend in anguish as we call to loved ones that 
have gone and seek to catch the faintest breathed 
reply. No answer comes ; no cheer, no sigh, no echo 
greets the listening ear. If there be life beyond, it 
sends no sign to us. Death still remains the dark- 
ling mystery it was, giving nothing back for what 
it takes, enshrouding the beyond in deep, unbroken 
silence. 

And so we stand — poor pensioners of chance — 
unanswered by the elements, driven from the por- 
tals of our schools, crying our question to the orbs 
of light that float above us, but throw no light upon 
the question, nor pause to listen to our wail, but on- 
ward pass in cold and calm indifference. 

If, then, the realms of nature and of space no 
answer give, if the green grass that comes from out 
the grave no message brings, if the unmeasured 
universe of countless suns that lighted up the dawn- 
ing humanity can shed no beam upon its close, must 
we then conclude the life of man is but a motion, 
the force of which is spent in death? — a shooting 
star, that blazes, melts away and disappears? — a 
clock that counts its weary hours, but when run 
down shall never tick again? 

Then we dare to say the maker of the clock has 
wasted effort in constructing the machine. We lose 
our admiration for a power whose edge has thus so 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 155 

suddenly grown blunt. We smile at impotence that 
could so well contrive and yet be baffled in continu- 
ance. But grant a power as able to continue as 
contrive, endow the clock with intellect, enrich it 
with affections, instill into it aspirations, and what 
was merely impotence before presents itself to us 
in hardest garbs of cruelty. 

I have somewhere read of an Arab tribe whose 
laws compelled destruction of their sickly female 
children, that the only time the Sheik was ever 
known to weep was when his daughter twined her 
arms around his neck and kissed him as she drank 
the poison pressed against her lips by a father's 
trembling hand. But where look we for the tears 
of God falling upon the upturned faces of His chil- 
dren, while in helpless agony they stretch their 
hands to Him, pleading in vain for life, as ruthlessly 
He presses them beneath the turbid waters of anni- 
hilation. We are but clay in potters' hand, 'tis 
true ; but, does the potter willfully destroy the ves- 
sel he has made? 

With this much of introduction we approach the 
first branch of our question. 

If a man die, shall he live again? 

To every buried hope, to every lost affection, to 
every dread of sleep that knows no waking, this 
question, fraught with earnest interest, is every- 
where recurring. 

Men call it Job's question. Eather let us say 
it is humanity's. Before Job was, the question was. 
Its origin is man's yearning for a life beyond; a 
life that intuition says must be, and Socrates evolved 



156 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

from reason. Was the reasoning correct? Is the 
conception true? Does the intuition fail — that even 
in the savage, like a maker's trademark, seems to 
have been stamped upon the soul at birth? — that, 
like the needle, points toward some distant star? 

Is intuition but another word for instinct, that 
tells the wandering bird, escaping from unfriendly 
winter, of milder climes it has not seen, yet hastens 
forward to? 

Is it thus the carrier pigeon, loosened from re- 
straint, uplifts itself into the air, nutters a moment 
in uncertainty, then, catching a hint, we know not 
how, flies forward toward its home with unmistak- 
ing aim? 

Is it by instinct or by intuition — call it either 
that you please — as spawning season nears the fish 
retires from ocean's deep recesses, and, turning its 
head toward its birthplace, unmindful of all other 
openings in the coast, enters the river whence it 
came and pushes its course to where its life began? 

Is it from instinct or from intuition that the 
beaver, which has never seen a frost or flood, yet 
builds its house with safeguards and escapes from 
both ? Is intuition only true in birds and beasts and 
fish and only false in man? 

Sifting the errors out, is intuition but another 
word for inspiration, and is this confined to writers 
of the Bible? Is it not true that all along the 
march of time God has for brief moments, now and 
then, let glints of light in through the narrow. slats 
of human understanding? How else shall you ac- 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 157 

count for Mencius' teachings, for Confucius' law of 
love, almost identical with that of Christ? 

If, then, inspiration, intuition, impulse — I care 
not what men call it — cometh from above, and birds, 
and beasts, and fish — and man are gifted with it; 
and birds, and beasts and fish are led aright by it; 
and, like the birds and beasts, man's impulses, point- 
ing through dim lights, impel him in directions new, 
untrodden and unknown, where reason falters and 
experience fails, but inspiration presses on to heights 
beyond which seem to beckon him — can it be true 
that longings of the soul, forever baffled here, shall 
nowhere find fruition? Must seeds created with un- 
folding power forever lose their power to unfold? 
Is expectation, thus implanted in the soul, only an 
ignus fatuus to lead astray? Would God so cruelly 
mislead His children? Is man a waif upon a sea, 
a speck upon a summer cloud, a throw upon a dice- 
board, a fragment of a mist the ever-rising sun of 
time shall soon dispel? Is he in less favor with his 
Maker than the brute that knows no grief, but chews 
its cud in comfort while its offspring dies? Is man 
a drop among a mass of billows that surge toward 
no shore — a nothing in the great creation of which 
he yet is consciously a part? Is there no morning 
to the night; no glimmering dawn to dark's despair; 
no leaf of hope above the waste of waters the seek- 
ing soul, like Noah's dove, may find? Is man an 
object here without an object — and God a God? 

This can not be. For every hill implies a valley, 
and every mountain stream an ocean or a lake, 
whose peaceful depths shall give the hurrying waters 



158 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

calm repose. Man can not be an accident. He fails, 
perhaps, to see the purpose of his being, but feels 
within the swellings of a tide whose billows cast 
their sprays upon eternal shores. Deep down with- 
in is conscious power and fathomless reserve. From 
thence the soul looks out upon the "everlasting 
hills" as oceans look upon mere surface ponds. It 
does not only feel that it shall live; it feels that it 
is life. It grants the fading light of suns, the burn- 
ing out of worlds, the rise and fall of systems. It 
grants the utmost range of possible destruction and 
yields assent to every possibility but one — the pos- 
sibility that it, itself, may die. To this it stubborn- 
ly refuses to consent. It claims a heritage of life 
by birthright, and quotes its Maker's proud reply — - 
"I am." 

If cause be followed by effect in all things else, 
man can not be an exile from the law and order that 
surround him. Somewhere there must be some solu- 
tion of the riddle, some answer to the question, "If 
a man die, shall he live again?" God must have 
left some track along the prairie, some blazing 
through the forest, some trail to lead the immigrant 
to settlements beyond. 

In this, does nature teach us nothing ? Yea, verily ! 
Though earth has now no mountain with an answer- 
ing voice, though Aaron's rod has ceased to bloom, 
there yet remain rich buddings of suggestion. 

Night closes into morn. The winter's sleep be- 
tokens early spring. The falling leaf bespeaks a 
loftier tree. The hurricane, a tranquil sky. The 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 159 

meteor's gleam suggests a sudden glory. Through 
death, the caterpillar reaches higher life. 

Nature is indeed suggestive, and dull must be the 
man who takes no hint from all around. 

Yet, useful as these hints may be, interests so great 
seek clearer light. 'Tis much to know the ice that 
I must cross looks thick along the edge, but who can 
tell me of its thickness in the middle? The lights 
that nature stations almost prove a shore; but who 
shall pilot through its inlets ? What shall the harbor 
be that I shall find? 

Getting thus far upon our search, inclined by rea- 
sons given to think that man shall live again, we 
turn to others who have thought, or possibly may 
have some special knowledge, and here we're told 
by some in answer to our question, "Yes, man shall 
live again. As breath that I exhale becomes a part 
of the surrounding air, and God is everywhere, so 
the soul returns to God." 

It does not die, is never lost, but forms a part of 
all pervading life. 

This is indeed cold comfort — an immortality we 
have, but little cause to thank the Great Immortal 
for. It soothes no breaking heart, it satisfies no 
longing soul. It answers not affection's call to know 
that in a shoreless space we may be reunited, as 
distant drops within an ocean, or distant atoms in 
a mountain. It fails in this — that I, the atom or the 
drop, claim fellowship with you, another atom or 
another drop. If memory survive, I claim the loves 
and the affections of the past. No other loves can 
fill their place. I, if I remain I, cannot combine 



160 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

with unknown atoms or with unknown drops. This 
prospect of a future life is therefore bare of hap- 
piness to me. I cast it from me as a worthless thing, 
delusive as the fabled fruit that yields, instead of 
richness, ashes. As well annihilation as a floating 
nothingness — better, indeed, if memory survive. But 
this can not be. Intuition teaches, not a life alone, 
but also individuality. 

It has been said, the universal voice of man is 
but the echo of the voice of God. In every age and 
clime man has believed in individual future life. If 
mental bias passes by heredity, intensifying as it 
goes, he is but an alien in this era of the human 
race who holds that man shall perish as the grass, 
or that the individual life shall not continue. 

Passing from analogy and intuition, seeking still 
clearer light, man finds upon the cultured earth he 
has just stepped upon a book that claims to be the 
utterance of God. He has not doubted that there 
was a God, for he has seen the compass plant that, 
through the bewildering wavelets of a pathless 
prairie, unerringly directs the traveler on his way; 
and he feels it is but probable that He who made 
him would contrive for him some guide along the 
labyrinths of life. So, satisfying himself this is the 
word of his Creator, he looks to see what answer 
may be to the question, "If a man die, shall he live 
again ? ' ' 

Beginning with the book he finds a fine estate 
is lost — a life of happiness is thrown away. His 
sympathies go out toward a man and woman sunk 
in grief. In their despair one comfort seems to be 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 161 

thrown out to them — "The woman's seed shall bruise 
the serpent's head." 

The law of good for evil, still so poorly learned, 
was not yet taught. Someone had beguiled the wom- 
an and lured her to her ruin. The woman's heart 
was human. It burned for justice and revenge on 
her betrayer. 

What would it be to her to know that in some 
dim and distant future, long after she had ceased to 
be, punishment so well deserved, but long withheld, 
should be inflicted? Could that be satisfying? No; 
she could, perhaps, afford to wait; she might be 
patient, but she herself must see the blow descend; 
or else the promise, as a solace, failed. Did Eve 
remain on earth until this promise was fulfilled? 

Vague as this argument may at first appear, the 
advocates of future life might almost rest their case 
upon it. I cite it, among other reasons, because it 
is among the weakest. The strong are better known. 

It has been often said the Jewish Bible teaches 
nothing of a future life. But what, then, is the 
meaning of that constantly recurring statement that 
this or that one of its heroes died, and was gathered 
to his fathers. How could this be if their fathers 
nowhere lived? 

Centuries after words like these were written, 
speaking of the resurrection of the dead, hear the 
Christ say to those around Him : "Have ye not read 
that which was spoken to you by God? I am the 
God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac and the 
God of Jacob. God is not the God of the dead but 
of the living.' ' Could anything be plainer? 



162 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

What, too, did David mean when, speaking of his 
child, he said: "But now he is dead, wherefore 
should I fast? Can I bring him back again ? I shall 
go to him, but he shall not return to me." Is it 
then true that the Old Testament is speechless of a 
future life? 

In the later book in glistening robes we find a 
Moses and Elias on a mountain top, fast friends and 
fellow-travelers from abroad who knew each other, 
not on earth, but somehow found each other out 
elsewhere. But here the teachings of a future life 
become so numerous, so varied and so plain, and they 
are so familiar to you it would be but a waste of 
time to cite them. We therefore pass to the re- 
maining questions, Where and How? 

Here we must approach with due humility — not 
with careless tread — looking at pictures seemingly 
in outline, hung in dim-lighted corridors, half seen, 
half hid — sometimes with more, sometimes with 
less light — some back in alcoves; some plainer, on 
the walls; some glowing with bright hues; some, 
simply somber — yet pictures, all of them, doubtless 
with detail, if we could see it. 

Let us pass along the gallery — not for admira- 
tion only, but for study. What do we see first? A 
man, two women in a garden. The group invites 
inspection. Dejection marks the women's faces, 
while tenderness and love beam forth from His. Their 
arms are filled with spices ; His are waiting to enfold 
a world. At first they meet as strangers. Now, 
the scene discloses mutual recognition. 'Tis a meet- 
ing of surprise to two of them, mingled with doubt, 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 163 

and fear, and joy. But, is it an optical mistake? 
Is it a man or a ghost that without password roams 
through files of sentinels, unchallenged and unseen? 

The women are affrighted. They start. They look 
as though they 'd flee. But see ! He speaks ! You 
do not hear, but mark the smile, the look of gentle- 
ness and love. And see ! The women are assured. 
They do not fly — nay, they advance. Casting aside 
all fear, they rush — not from Him, but toward Him. 
In glad surprise they would enclasp Him in their 
arms. But no ; a finger raised, a hand pressed back 
against the air — the women stop. And now you 
seem to hear the words long written in the Book: 
"Nay, touch me not; I have not yet ascended to my 
Father." 

Where had He been those three long days, dark 
days to loving friends? Where had He been? 

Great mental strains, great wear of mind and body 
often resolve in long protracted sleep. Is this the 
secret of the three lost days? He, to whom rest 
had always been denied, had He at last found quiet 
in the curtained grave? Was it from sleep that He 
had just emerged? Nay, this was not sleep. The 
change that you and I have yet to meet, the act 
that is to be performed in us — death, death, un- 
doubted death, had taken place, and here, surpassing 
all belief, is life again. Out of the struggle a victor, 
what is the story of the three lost days? 

Peter knew, if not just then he knew soon after- 
wards. How much he knew, and how he knew, I 
can not tell ; but he had conversations with the risen 
One. Peter says He had been preaching. Preaching f 



164 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Where ? Preaching in the grave ! Preaching to the 
worms? No, preaching to the spirits in prison. 
Where was the prison? Who composed His audi- 
ence? Ah, where, who, how? Would that Peter 
had been less reticent. Would he had vouchsafed 
us more. Let us look back. 

Just before the torture of the cross was ended, 
one hanging by Him, pierced by penitence more deep- 
ly than by spears, knelt his soul before Him in sub- 
mission. That was all that he could do. That was 
all his fellow-sufferer had ever asked. The soul was 
fast loosening to flee. There was not much space 
between the this and that — not much time for church 
examinations or experiences. 

Suffering with inexpressible pain, the outcast, 
midst it all, experienced new love. He found what 
one, more learned, had failed to comprehend — 
man might be born again. His plea was short, his 
words were few. But then, as though with gathered 
strength the hearer sought to send his voice adown 
the centuries to you and me as well, we hear the 
utterance of a rising God mixed with the fast fail- 
ing accents of a dying man, "Thou shalt be with me 
today in Paradise. " 

Paradise? Is that the fair and flowery vale of 
fact or fiction, from which for disobedience our an- 
cestors were cast out? Nay, that belongs to earth. 
Some other Paradise there then must be ; some Para- 
dise where flowers refuse to fade; some Paradise 
where none beguile; some place, perhaps, where 
hope shall find fruition. 

Is that place here? No! Earth affords no answer 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN ? 165 

to such expectations. Is it, then, heaven? Not if 
by heaven we mean the place where the Eternal is. 
' l Today," He tells the thief, "Thou shalt be with 
me in Paradise." Three days thereafter He tells 
the women, "I have not yet ascended to my Father." 
Paradise? What is it? 

Looking back again, a curious tale is told about 
two men who knew each other here, and having 
passed the boundary line of death, they met again 
and knew each other still. True, there was a gulf 
between, as commonly there is twixt you and others 
you may meet in street or store, or sit beside in 
cars, touching, it may be, knees and elbows, yet 
having a gulf between as deep as the Atlantic. The 
gulf was not as wide as it is often here, for there 
they spoke; here, often, they do not. They saw 
each other, knew each other, spoke of past times, 
of people known to one or both and showed in every 
way the same degree of consciousness and memory 
that you and I might be supposed to have if, being 
absent, casually we met today in Memphis. We're 
told that one of them was in Abraham's bosom. Is 
then the bosom of the faithful another name for 
Paradise? If so, besides, what have we thus far 
learned? 

First — That Paradise is but a step from earth; 
the thief and his Eedeemer died at sunset; that day 
they were to be in Paradise. Trains leaving earth 
arrive there soon. 

Second — In Paradise they know each other just 
as they do here. Their knowledge of each other, 
and their interest in those they've left is unimpaired. 



166 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Third — Their happiness is not alike — one was "tor- 
mented." 

Looking still farther back, we find a side-light in 
a speech of David. "Thou shalt not leave my soul 
in hell." 

Peter says this was a prophecy, fulfilled in Da- 
vid's great descendant, Jesus. 

Those familiar with the original tell us that in 
this place hell means hades, and hades means the 
place of the departed spirits. "Thou shalt not leave 
my soul in hades, ' ' then plainly implies, his soul must 
go to hades, must be in hades and come out of hades. 

Is hades then the prison? Was it in hades that 
He placed His pulpit for the three long days? Was 
it in hades that the rich man and the beggar met? 
Is hades but another name for prison, and that an- 
other name for Abraham's bosom, and that another 
name for Paradise? Can it be otherwise? 

Then is heaven only yet another name for these? 
Surely the loved ones we have lost are safe in heav- 
en? Not if I understand it. Have you not read the 
thirteenth verse of the third chapter of John — "No 
man hath ascended up to heaven but he that came 
down from heaven, even the Son of man, which is 
in heaven ? ' ' And then again, John 1 :18 : "No man 
hath seen God at any time?" 

No, heaven is not hades ; hades is not heaven. The 
walls of hades have not yet been scaled. Its bolts 
and bars have never yet been broken. Only the Son 
of man has entered it and come out again. He only, 
of humanity, has ever yet gone higher. 

Here we will leave the questions of the life itself, 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 167 

and where. The dead you've buried, and love the 
more, perhaps, because you buried them, are now in 
hades, paradise, Abraham's bosom, in prison — dif- 
ferent names for the self-same thing. 

How a prison? Earth is a prison. You can not 
go to Venus, or to Mars. Only by imagination can 
you roam the constellations. You can not, like the 
comets, fly through space. You are confined to 
earth. Earth is a prison; just so, hades. 

Is the great preacher sometimes seen there? I 
do not know; I think so. There must be other 
worlds ; each world may have its hades ; the preach- 
er may be here and there by turns. 

A word or two about the How, and I am done. 

Here we learn chiefly by experience and by com- 
parison. Using the plainest illustrations, by touch- 
ing it, a child learns that fire burns. By comparison, 
one knows that he is either weak or strong. We 
say in common phrase, the day is cold, only because 
we have known warmer days. Added to this, we 
have the experience of those who tell us things that 
they have seen and we have not; and thus it is 
through life, man learns by comparison or experi- 
ence, his own or other's. But these are not our only 
means of knowledge. 

If Robinson Crusoe had been left a babe upon 
his island, and so lived on to manhood, believing 
there was no other of his kind, the track upon the 
sand, marked with the imprint of the heel and toes, 
and hollow of the foot, would have convinced him 
there was one other like himself. 

He who notes the range of life from great to 



168 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

small in animals and plants, who finds no vacua, 
who sees that even drops of water are inhabited, 
and that all things are in some way utilized, on him 
is forced conviction, admitting of no doubt, that 
other worlds are peopled; yet he can not prove it. 
There are, then, things men know — not by experi- 
ence, or by demonstration, yet they know them. 

Man sees decay in all around, but out of it comes 
life. He sees the dying seed become a tree; the 
bulb, a lily, or a hyacinth. He sees the caterpillar 
weave its shroud, lie down and die, and rise again a 
butterfly. Do these mean nothing? Are they not 
marks as certain as the track upon the sand? 

Do we here catch no answer to our question? Is 
paradise to earth what the tree is to the seed — the 
flower to the bulb ? Is paradise the blooming of the 
gnarled and rugged root called earth? Is not the 
lily but the bulb developed? 

Is it in paradise the undeveloped seeds man finds 
within him — the love of science, music, literature 
and art, development of which had been denied him 
here — is it there that these shall germinate and find 
fruition? Is this the how? 

Is the development of those He loves, as upward 
step by step they go, the "song of praise" most 
grateful to a loving Father's ear? Is it so here, and 
yet not there, and He our Father? Is it thus they 
* ' stand before the throne, ' ' and ' ' cast their crowns ' ' 
before Him? Is this the how? 

Is it there that you shall find your lost ones, the 
marks and lines and wrinkles all smoothed out, the 
childish forms and voices now matured, following; 
where study is a pleasure, not a task, the various 



IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? 169 

pursuits that were impressed upon them in their 
origin ? Is this the how ? 

Reading sometimes the records of their existence 
here, smiling at freaks and fancies long forgotten, 
starting with affright at dangers they had passed, 
grateful over what they'd called misfortunes here, 
but now, with added light, they see were only bars 
across their way to hidden evils, canals to carry 
them around rapids the roar of which they had not 
even heard? 

Seeing now clearly what they could not see before : 
how with" their surroundings and propensities suf- 
fering and pain were as but the skillful surgeon's 
knife inserted to effect a cure? How death has 
sometimes to be early to avoid calamities much 
worse than death — as buds may bloom more fully in 
the vase if plucked before the roseworm eats its 
way into them? 

Seeing at last the guiding hand through all the 
drift, and maze, and tangle of their lives — roaming 
through widening pleasures and delights, radiant 
and bright with health and beauty — are these your 
buried — smiling at the errors and mistakes of what 
we call life, but they call only its beginning? 

Are these the circumstances and surroundings of 
those that you call lost — looking for you, waiting 
for you, planning glad surprises for you when you 
come? 

Shall you some time awake from sleep with forms 
around you — strange, yet not entirely strange — 
laughing at your puzzled looks, while you, yet half 
awake, are wondering who and what and where 
you are? Is this the How? I think so. 



THANKSGIVING. 

When Yorktown fell and peace proclaimed the 
independence of this country, and the King of Eng- 
land ordained a day of thanksgiving, he was asked, 
' 'For what is it that we are to give thanks? Is 
it for the blood and treasure we have lost and for 
thirteen of the brightest jewels of your crown V 
"No, no," replied his majesty, "but because it is 
no worse." King George was a philosopher. 

Are these my reasons for thanksgiving — that 
things are no worse with us? No, no, a thousand 
times no, for they are better and better and abund- 
antly better. How shall I enumerate and hope to 
keep within the limits of an untiresome lecture? 

When as a boy I entered a merchant's office one 
of my duties was to copy out in longhand the let- 
ters that were written, with all the tedious formal 
compliments then thought necessary. It was a 
change of pure delight when for this was substi- 
tuted the letter press with compliments omitted. 

But how is it now? With a mass of correspond- 
ence before him, the manager of a large business, 
lighting his cigar and idly talking, his stenographer 
does all the rest. Should I not give thanks for 
this? 

But that is not all. Turning in his revolving, 
easy chair, picking up his desk telephone the 

170 



THANKSGIVING. 171 

banker buys and sells exchange with distant cities, 
and at 2 o'clock his work is done. 

In 1863 it was necessary for me to receive a few 
thousand dollars in the city of Monterey. My 
money was done up in bales, more neatly than any 
but a Mexican could pack it. But how was I to 
get it to Matamoras, 300 miles? Though a city of 
40,000 people, there was no bank in Monterey to 
sell exchange, and if there had been, there was 
no bank in Matamoras on which a bank in Mon- 
terey could draw. There was no express, nor was 
there any railroad. There was no paper money, nor 
was there gold. I could only send the silver. Re- 
minded by my agent of the crosses I had seen on 
my way up, where murdered men were found, and. 
that the stage which made the trip in five days 
and a half might be emptied of its passengers be- 
fore the muzzles of revolvers and driven off by 
robbers, I consented to consign the money to the 
care of cotton wagons, hidden between bales, 
which probably would make the trip in thirty days. 
Not expecting to see the ninety-five, I paid the 
5 percent most willingly, the cost of gia or per- 
mit, to remove the money from New Leon to the 
neighboring city of Tamaulipas. But in the pay- 
ment of the gia, there was a moment of thanks- 
giving for the fact, that in the city where I lived, 
for a trifle I could buy a draft upon any other city 
in America or Europe, which I could put in my vest 
pocket, and would secure to me my money even 
though I lost the draft. 

Until recently England was the great iron mas- 



172 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

ter of the world. When our railway was built to 
Nashville, England supplied the rails and iron ac- 
cessories. Only a few years ago England made nine 
million tons of iron per year, Germany about half 
as much, Scotland, Belgium, Norway, Sweden and 
America none to speak of. As a result of enter- 
prise, made possible by railroads, this year America 
will make about twenty-five million tons of iron, 
more than all the world beside. I am thankful for 
this and am proud of it. 

I am thankful for the enormous increase of 
wealth in our country, growing richer as it is year 
by year in enormous strides. 

I am thankful for the products of our farms and 
our factories going as they are to feed and supply 
the wants of all the world, and especially as this 
is only in its beginning compared with what the 
future will disclose. 

At the close of our last fiscal year it was found 
that our exports of foodstuffs and manufactured 
goods sent abroad to other countries for their gold 
or its equivalent amounted to the enormous sum 
of $1,718,000,000. 

It is easy to write the words one billion seven 
hundred and eighteen million, but the stupendous 
amount of that much money can not be understood 
by the human mind, except by illustration. For ex- 
ample, to count one billion dollars in money at the 
rate of one dollar per minute and ten hours per 
day and every day throughout the year, except 
legal holidays, without deducting for sickness or 
for rest, the time would be so long in order to count 



THANKSGIVING. 173 

a billion dollars in this way, that had some one 
undertaken the task, beginning the undertaking 
when Christ was born in Bethlehem and continued 
it ever since, by this time he would not be quite 
three-fourths through with his labor. 

I thank God for the prosperity of America. Mea- 
sured thereby she is the queen of nations. I thank 
Him for His guidance of our early footsteps in our 
efforts to avoid the misfits of other governments, 
and I look to Him to perfect in us what He has so 
mightily begun. I thank Him for the protection 
of our laws, which, percolating through centuries 
in Rome and England bloomed out in Magna 
Charta, but found its full fruition in our Declaration 
of Independence. 

I thank God for the commonsense of American 
people as shown in their everyday lives and in in- 
vention and discovery. And because Christianity 
is as firmly imbedded in our civilization as are the 
unyielding rocks that lie beneath our mountain 
chains. And while perfection is too much to be 
expected, beneath the eddies of ignorance and an- 
archy there runs a deep broad stream of common 
sense and patriotism. 

I thank God for the manhood of America, not 
seen in gilded buttons, in garish bits of ribbon or 
in senseless titles that could not dignify an ape. 
But, beneath the flag that glitters with the stars 
of freedom, there stands the American with fore- 
head bared and upward turned to heaven, thankful 
for the glories of his country, the freedom of the 
ballot box, and the happiness of its homes. 



174 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

The hereafter of America, a yearling only in the 
family of nations, imagination staggers in an effort 
to estimate her future. It may be that "the hand 
that rocks the cradle will yet rule the world," but 
when it does the cradle will be canopied with stars 
and stripes. 

If in the Far East humanity had its beginning 
and in Europe its dissensions and its battlefields, 
ours is the land and ours are the altars where it 
shall find a home and be united. 



GOOD FRIDAY. 

I am asked to say a word or two about Good Fri- 
day. Before attempting it, however, there are ques- 
tions lying back of it that ought to be considered. 
Before I build my house I must be sure of my 
foundation. 

There is a tiny insect that for some years past 
has never failed to visit me in summer. It is so 
small that while it moves at will upon the page be- 
fore me, I can see it only when it wanders on a 
margin. It is so swift in movement that if in pro- 
portion to its size and mine I had its power of lo- 
comotion I might breakfast in my home and take 
an early luncheon in New York. Besides the power 
that I see I know that this wee thing has heart and 
lungs and stomach. Scampering over my page, 
possibly in play, more likely in pursuit of prey 
too small, perhaps, for man through strongest glasses 
to discern, this wee thing is to me a preacher. He 
does not tell me where, but somewhere says to me 
there is a Being who creates and has created him. 
His sermon is convincing. I ask no further proof 
of what this little preacher tells me. The Being 
that created and endowed him with the powers 
that I see, 'twere easier for Him — if any differ- 
ence — to make a world or multitude of worlds. 
Here is a question with no sides to it. There is no 

175 



176 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

room for argument. I want no further proof. 
There is a God. 

It was many years ago, indeed, the years have 
clustered into centuries, but it happened once, a 
nation was enslaved. To free it, blood was sprin- 
kled on men's doorposts. Strange way, indeed, to 
save mankind from bondage, but it did it. It was 
not the doorpost, but the blood. And for fear that 
this might be forgotten, it was ordained that 
once a year, and at a certain time, blood, blood 
should reappear, and it did. Men wondered. There 
must have been some meaning to it, but who could 
find it out. 

The towel of my bath refers me back to hemp 
grown on a farmer's land, and that again to seed 
sown in that land, and that again to life in mys- 
tery imbedded in that seed. 

Back of the pen with which I write are steel and 
iron dug from out the ground, but interspersed 
with science, skill and labor. The towel and the 
pen are but results. But these are not unerring. 
The man who sowed the seed did not foresee the 
towel ; the laborer who dug the ore did not foresee 
the pen. The seed might find itself enshrouded in 
the garment of a queen or woven in a hangman's 
rope. The ore might utter words of eloquence ; or, 
formed in cannon balls, might cruelly destroy. Not 
so the blood upon the doorpost — a sacrifice cement- 
ed to that nation and solemnized by thunder, fire 
and smoke. It seemed to have one meaning — only 
one. Centuries rolled on. Generations came and 
went. No explanation came. 



GOOD FRIDAY. 177 

The insect told me of a Being of great power. 
When the early Britons first heard of Him, having 
no name for Him in their vernacular, wisely they 
agreed to call Him Good. Dropping a letter in the 
descent of time we accept the name they gave Him 
and we call Him God. And now they tell us that 
this Being has a Son, and that He sent that Son 
to earth to represent Him. But here, alas, we have 
no teacher like the insect. Biographies, indeed, 
exist, that have come down to us through centuries, 
but who believes them. Heralded, but not accom- 
panied, by angels, seen only by shepherds, and 
they, perhaps, in dreams, for it was night; coming 
as a babe, and in the lowest walks of life, that God 
would send us a representative in such a way, to 
teach the world of Him and expect that representa- 
tive to be believed! What nonsense! Does God 
know less than man? What man would send an 
agent to a foreign shore without certificate or 
proof? And then, too, as the story goes, born of 
a virgin! Here improbability becomes impossi- 
bility. Surely God would not have acted so. And 
yet, herein lies evidence of truth, for it is plain to 
see that those biographers wrote seriously ; and who 
invents to be believed and does not follow natural 
lines of thought? 

The child grew up to manhood ; piled miracle on 
miracle to prove the story true, and swept away all 
unbelief. 

There had been writings in old books, writings 
almost as remote as the birth of time — writings 
never understood. Men now anew re-read those 



178 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

writings, and they, too, proved the story true. With 
a representative of God on earth, should not the 
world rejoice? 

There came a day of gloom. Foreseeing, He fore- 
told it. Earth had known horrors. Too often 
drenched in blood and tears, its greatest horror yet 
awaited it. In the battles it had won, could hell 
ask more than it had gained? From Eden until 
now hell ever was a victor. And, yet, there was a 
struggle in a wilderness where, shorn of his laurels, 
Satan was defeated. Time hastened. Revenge is 
sweet. Defeat is often but the prelude to a glori- 
ous victory. The king of evil waits his opportuni- 
ty. It came. 

The temple is profaned. The holy are offended. 
This newcomer with a new religion is a Sabbath- 
breaker. He consorts with the vicious and the low, 
proclaims an unknown God, makes Him His Father, 
and does miracles to prove it. Down with Him! 
Crucify Him ! And — the deed was done. 

But how? With what effect? Shrouding itself 
in clouds, the sun refuses light upon the murder. 
If this were the only time this horror were en- 
acted, angels must have wept and heaven itself 
was draped in mourning. Roused from their 
peaceful slumbers the dead arose in protest of the 
act. Darkness reigned supreme. The temple's veil 
that kept the sinner from the saint was rent in 
twain. Hell was triumphant; the king of evil was 
at last revenged. If other worlds had like ex- 
perience this was a new event to this. And this 
day of horror we call Good. 



GOOD FRIDAY. 179 

Like the towel and the seed, the iron and the 
pen, this day was a result. If a day at all, it was 
a day of centuries. Its sun arose amid the mid- 
night of Egyptian darkness; it set in greater dark- 
ness in Jerusalem. To man it was a long and tire- 
some day, filled up with sobs, with now and then a 
gleam of light from prophet's voice. With God, 
we're told, "a thousand years are as a day." And 
had we power to discern, should we not find earth's 
history replete with days of such duration? 

There is a sequel to this day of horrors, but it 
does not yet appear. It has to do with every child 
of Adam until earth's last day of destiny shall 
close. 

But fixing our eyes on this victim of a maddened 
hate, uplifted on a cross, as though unfit for earth, 
not good enough for heaven, we see Him bleeding 
from the cruel nails that tear and lacerate the ten- 
der nerves of hands and feet. In all of the injus- 
tice and all the suffering His lips are silent of com- 
plaint. He does not utter maledictions. Indeed, 
the only words we hear from Him are those of pity, 
love and kindness. Forgetting self, thinking only 
of His persecutors — not of the punishment deserved 
by them — strangely we only hear the prayer, "For- 
give them, Father; Father, forgive." Before or 
since was ever anything like this? No wonder that 
a famous infidel once said, "Socrates died a hero, 
but Jesus died a God." 

Perhaps the hardest of trial was the desertion 
of His friends, those He had chosen to be with 
Him; but no complaint escapes His lips. But, let 
it forever be the glory of womankind that His last 



180 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

lingering look upon the earth that He had made, 
fell on the uplifted eyes of those who, bravest of 
all, stood by Him to the end. Were they thinking 
of Him as a Savior of the world ? Oh, no ; they did 
not think; they only loved Him. The unbelieving 
Thomas was the first to see that He was God. 

Where wast thou, Peter? Didst thou not say, 
though all others should forsake Him, yet wouldst 
not thou? How couldst thou? Was it the fear 
of the Koman lances or the scowls of Pharisee and 
priest? Oh, Peter! When His heart was breaking, 
and He heard you say you did not know Him — how 
could you? And the women all the time stood by 
him! Peter! Oh, Peter! Though in heaven for 
1800 years, what would you not yet give if you had 
not denied Him? 

Philip, Andrew — all the rest — where were they? 
Only the women and John, those are all we see. 

Did you hear Him when He spoke to John about 
His mother? No, I forgot; you were not there. 
Anxious about His mother? Oh, well; it was the 
man then speaking. Divinity was still not quite 
complete. 

Oh, Christ; canst thou forgive the sons of men 
for this foul deed? Can 1800 years of penitence 
avail us to atone? And, oh, fellowman! with Cal- 
vary before our eyes, how can we fail to love? 
How can we sin? 

And can it be really true that by indifference or 
by neglect that even by the drop of water I re- 
fuse to give that I am adding nails ? That the spear, 
dropped from a Roman soldier's hand, that I am 
pressing it into Thy holy side? 



EASTEPv. 

Far back in the past, a horde of people, old and 
young, sick and well, numbering, as commonly com- 
puted, two and a half to three millions, marched 
out of the country wherein they had been born and 
always lived into a wilderness to establish a 
new nation, and, in part, a new religion. This 
is one of the marvels of history. The faith, that like 
a beacon led them, is beyond our power to imagine. 
A general who would have thus led an army would 
have been called a madman. This was the exodus 
of the people Israel from Egypt. Apparently, the 
last meal before starting was of a lamb, particular 
directions respecting which and the eating of it 
are found in the twelfth chapter of Exodus. The 
death angel passed over the houses where the blood 
of this lamb was sprinkled on the doorposts. 

There has never been a doubt among Christians 
that this lamb was the prefigure of the Lamb of 
God, who, fifteen hundred years or more thereafter 
was crucified, or that the midnight meal thus in- 
stituted in Egypt, and in one form or another an- 
nually continued everywhere, and ever since under 
the name of Passover, was the night before the 
crucifixion passed over into the Christian system 
by our Lord Himself? Nor is there any doubt 
with Christian, Jew or Gentile, that the day now 

181 



182 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

commonly known as Easter Sunday commemorates, 
the resurrection of our Lord? 

While, however, this is true, we are forced to 
the conclusion that the very early Christians knew 
very little or nothing of such a day. Only in a 
single instance (Acts 12 :4) is the word Easter men- 
tioned in our common version of the New Testament 
and there, scholars tell us, it should be rendered 
Passover, and so the Revised Version now translates 
it. The early Christians did, indeed, in the begin- 
ning, keep the first day of the week in honor of 
the resurrection; but they kept the first day of 
every week. When the annual celebration of the, 
resurrection began, we do not know. Neander, 
Kilgenfeld and others speak of it as existing "after 
the second century," others as "after the third 
or fourth. ,, At that time, however, it certainly 
meant in many places and probably in all, the cele- 
bration both of the crucifixion and the resurrection. 
Later, but we do not know just when, it referred 
only to the latter. Even then there seems to have 
been no uniformity in date. To remedy this irregu- 
larity, the Council of Nicea (325), influenced 
some say by the Emperor Constantine, decreed that 
the Easter should be celebrated "on the Sunday 
immediately following the fourteenth day of the so- 
called paschal moon, which happens on or first after 
the vernal equinox." 

By our method of computing time, the vernal 
equinox falls on March 21st. Under this decree, 
therefore, Easter, to be on Sunday, might occur as 



EASTER. 183 

early as March 22d, or as late as April 25th. But 
this was unsatisfactory and not agreed to by many. 

The Jewish year comprised twelve lunar months, 
alternating thirty and twenty-nine days each, with 
every third year an intercalary or added month to 
make up time. But it happened once on the seventh 
month of the year, known both as Abib and Nisan, 
God said to Moses (Ex. 12:1-2), ''This month shall, 
be unto you the beginning of months; it shall be 
the first month of the year to you." 

"Why this new year? It was (Ex. 13:4) the anni- 
versary of the coming out from Egypt — a grand 
reason, indeed. This year with the first moon after 
the vernal equinox would thereafter be known as 
the sacred year, while the former year known as 
the secular year, would continue. Beginning with 
the first moon, the Passover would follow on the. 
fourteenth day thereafter. Our Lord was crucified 
on the fifteenth and rose again on the third day 
thereafter, counting both first and last days. This, 
then, the third day after the fourteenth day of the 
first month of the new year, would seem to be the 
proper date for the celebration of Easter, but this 
would seldom fall upon the first day of the week. 
And the first day of the week was earnestly con- 
tended for by many as the right and only proper 
time. Thus a serious controversy upon this point 
agitated the Church; one side, as we are told, even 
quoting Peter and Paul as authority for their view, 
while their opponents, with equal positiveness, 
pointed to the teachings of Philip and John as 
authority for theirs. Perhaps because of the im- 



184 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

possibility of bringing together the first day of a 
week and the third day after the fourteenth day 
of Abib or Nisan except once in many years; per- 
haps for other reasons, too, many Christian Churches 
pay small regard to Easter. As to the name it- 
self, all scholars are agreed that it is taken from 
Ostera, the heathen Goddess of Spring. Perhaps 
that is another reason. 

Many absurdities, also, were practiced under the 
name of Easter, and that may be still another 
reason. Thus we read that for years it was the 
practice in Lancashire, England, for the men on 
Easter Monday to "lift" the women, and on Easter 
Tuesday for the women to -'lift" the men. This ; 
was done by two persons making a sort of chair by 
clasping their hands, and hoisting another person 
on it. And we are seriously told of a reverend 
clergyman while passing through Lancashire being 
shocked by the intrusion of a lot of women at his 
inn who, insisting upon lifting him, explained by 
saying, "All us women were lifted yesterday, and 
we lift the men today." In Durham we are told 
it was the custom for the men to take off the 
women's shoes on Monday, and for the women to 
return that compliment on Tuesday. But after all, 
is this more silly than the present custom of certain 
European Kings who on every Easter eve, evidence 
their humility by slightly touching twelve beggars' 
feet with a wet rag, — being quite sure beforehand 
that the feet are clean. 

But Easter is beautiful. Coming in the Spring, as 
nature rubs her eyes from sleep, to the infidel it 



EASTER. 185 

is an object lesson, while to the Christian it is a 
positive assurance, — Life lives; there is no death. 
To the Jew, alas, what is it? With the bleatings of 
defenseless lambs in centuries gone by within his 
ears, and Calvary before his eyes, the thoughtful 
Jew still asks the question — why? 

Before the Babe of Bethlehem was born, Earth's 
griefs were buried in a hopeless grave. But Jesus 
rolled away the stone, and lo ! the grave is open. 



DEATH-WHAT IS IT? 

If there be one fact about which we may feel 
certain with respect to that Being we call God, of 
whose immensity of knowledge and of power our 
feeble minds can only grasp the faintest outskirts, 
it is that He is never idle. The air, the brook, the 
sea, the tides — motion, movement, action every- 
where tell us as plainly as words could tell the 
ceaseless activity of God. 

And I think that we may take one further step — 
that forming or creating, He creates, or forms, or 
re-forms nothing without a purpose. Thus we see 
God in His works, the only means we have of seeing 
Him. 

We agree, He is eternal. If eternal, then He 
never had beginning. If eternal and without be- 
ginning, and if as His Book declares, "the same 
yesterday, today and forever," then as we see Him 
now He has been always. Then He was always 
active, never idle, always creating, always forming, 
or re-forming. 

What was He creating, forming or re-forming in 
the past? Must it not be that in the past he 
was creating, forming and re-forming just as He 
is now? 

Then, if God had no beginning, and was never 
idle, but always was creating, forming and re-form- 

186 



DEATH — WHAT IS IT? 187 

ing, could there have been a time, could there ever 
have been a single moment when no Sun shone upon 
the darkness, when no star lighted up the dreari- 
ness of space, when no orb decked in splendor 
roamed the distant sky, when creation wore the 
weeds of mourning and space the drapery of death ? 
Was there ever such a time? And God eternal, 
never idle, "the same yesterday, today and for- 
ever?" The eternity of God and the eternal activ- 
ity of God admitted, the eternity of worlds follows 
as a necessary corollary unless God's activities 
found other outlets, and that to us is inconceivable. 
The eternity of worlds — not an eternity of each 
world; for worlds like flowers and birds and beasts 
and men are subject to the universal law of birth 
and death. The butterfly may last a summer ; man, 
three score years and ten, while worlds endure 
for ages. 

Were those worlds always empty? If not, what 
did they contain? 

If all we know of God's creation implies use and 
purpose ; if the rivers and the seas are stocked with 
fish; the air is filled with animalculae, and in a 
drop of water living beings find a home, have all 
those worlds that roll in grandeur nothing in 
them? If not, what have they in them? 

We know something of those orbs that fly 
through space because we live in one of them. To 
be sure it does not count for much among the 
many — a grain of sand among the many shores, a 
leaf among the countless forests — but can it be that 
only it is gifted with beings that can think? 



188 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

We have no glasses that can give an answer to 
that question, but God has sent to us the spectro- 
scope, and that simple little instrument reveals to 
us that other worlds are made of such materials 
as ours. Wherein, then, do we differ? Was our 
world made to be inhabited and all those others to 
be empty? 

But some you say are cold and some are hot. 
Yes, possibly too cold, too hot for us. But can not 
"He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb" 
suit the habitation to the habitant — and does He 
not? The fish in Mammoth Cave are eyeless, but 
where sight is needed, does he not make the fish 
to see? 

A child in passing through an orchard picks up 
something from the ground. He curiously ex- 
amines it, tastes it, concludes that it is made for 
food and from a passerby he learns it is an apple. 
Then looking up, among the trees he sees a thou- 
sand little globes. Though some are large and some 
are small and some unripe he thinks that all of 
those are apples, too, and all in time be fit for use. 

Then if the spectroscope does not deceive us and 
worlds are made of same materials; if, like the 
apples, some are large and some are small, some 
ripe, some unripe but hastening on to ripeness, 
while some unseen have fallen to decay; if God is 
God, "the same yesterday, today and forever," 
and never idle, it must be that in their history 
worlds are very much alike. They come, they fill 
their destiny and pass away, bearing in their 
bosoms the graves of teeming myriads of birds and 



DEATH — WHAT IS IT? 189 

beasts and fish and animalculae — and men. The 
world we live in is an index to the whole. 

Does the resemblance end here? Why should it? 
Its materials the same, its origin the same, running 
its course through space like all that were, and 
are and shall be, what is there peculiar in its 
being? Minor differences there must be, minor 
differences there are. But outside of these as we 
are now, many have been, many shall be, many 
doubtless are. Each must have had or yet must 
have its stone age. Each must have waded through 
or each must yet survive the pangs of labor fraught 
with crime and blood in giving birth to higher 
life. Each must have had its primal garden and 
each — I think — has had its Calvary and Christ or 
these are yet in store for it. Why not? 

Then what is all of that to us? This: Here we 
are in prison and we cannot escape from it. Earth 
is a prison and each human body is a separate 
cell. We wish to fly; we cannot. We crave to 

know, but we remain in ignorance. 

* # # 

How would you like to sit today with one who 
told you of the people he had known, and of the 
Calvary and Cross his soul in penitence had knelt 
before a hundred thousand million billion trillion 
years before our world was formed and of the 
Christ that in that faded past he then had learned 

to love? 

# # # 

And this is death. And death lets in this flood 
of light upon the blinded and imprisoned soul- 
How beautiful is death! 



MERCY. 

We write our mercies in the sand; our ingrati- 
tudes are woven in steel. 

It is said that Pliny, the younger, thinking of the 
fires in volcanoes, in suns and flying meteors, in- 
deed in every household, and how destructive fire 
is, marveled that the world was not burned up. But 
Pliny knew nothing of the danger of a general 
conflagration because chemistry was then unborn. 

Those things that man most needs, air and water 
— how merciful is God, that He gives them with- 
out stint, that these are open to the poor as well 
as to the rich. But how much greater mercy this, 
that each is kept in harmless balance. 

We live amidst the most destructive elements; of 
death in momentary danger, from causes that we 
know, yet never think of. Let Him who made the 
air, abstract the oxygen therefrom and what? All 
human life, and animal, as at the recent rupture at 
Pelee, chokes, suffocates and dies. On the contrary, 
let Him tonight abstract the nitrogen therefrom 
and what? The servant girl who first strikes match 
to make tomorrow's breakfast, wraps the whole 
earth in flame. 

To teach the world His power over things that 
He had made, Christ once turned water into wine. 
Suppose some time, in exercise of that same power, 

190 



MERCY. 191 

instead of turning water into wine, He should de- 
compose the water — fling out the hydrogen and 
leave the other gas, what then? The fire of the 
nearest ship, like the servant's match, would make 
the sea a wilderness of blaze. 

Either of these great catastrophes (or both) is 
possible. Either might happen in a moment — any 
moment — and either or both would surely happen 
if decomposition should arise. Only God's watch- 
ful and protective care, only God's mercy, perpetu- 
ally holds and keeps this nice balance of the ele- 
ments, which, for a single moment separated would 
precipitate a universal death. We live, not over a 
volcano that may never burst, but amidst the most 
destructive powers, certain to explode but for God's 
mercy. But for that each breath we draw might 
be our last. Pliny did not see one-half the danger. 

Who watches the fields and gives them drink 
when they are dry? "He who neither slumbers 
nor sleeps." What if He did sleep? What if He 
gave His thoughts to other worlds and forgot us 
and rain should cease to fall and seeds to germi- 
nate? Why is it that these things do not happen 
but year by year successively earth yields its fruits 
and man still lives? What is it but His mercy? 

Mercy? It is the first cry of conscious humanity. 
It is the never ending cry both of the sinner and 
the saint. It is the Mecca both seek, the goal both 
aim for, the shrine at which both kneel, the fount 
at which both drink. It is the earliest cry of pain, 
the first of sorrow or distress. Man battles with 
his fellows, but before the Great Creator whether 



192 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

in strength or weakness, whether in sickness or in 
health, whether in pride or in humility, whether in 
the flush of manhood or in the gathering darkness 
of a fated dissolution, the universal cry of man to 
God is, Mercy. It is as helpful to him as the dew 
is to the flower, inspiring as the breath of morning 
in the heat of summer, and natural as the infant 
birdlings' cry for food it has no power to procure. 
Mercy is God's gift, man's universal clamor for. 

The mercy of God? It can only be measured by 
His love. A visitor at a school for the blind once 
told the children to write on their slates the one 
word each thought the sweetest. Some wrote 
mother, others wrote love. One girl wrote mercy. 
On being asked why she thought that word the 
sweetest she answered, "Oh, when I am bad and 
I go up to my little room and get down on my knees 
and tell my Father all about it and He says 'that 
was very bad Janie, but I will overlook it for you 
did not mean to do it and you will try not to do 
it any more.' Oh, then I am so happy. It's His 
great mercy makes me happy." 

God's mercy? How constant is it! How ever 
present! While from the air we breathe we ex- 
tract the oxygen and breathe carbonic acid gas 
which, sinking, because heavier than air, would 
soon pile up above our heads and choke us; what 
but the mercy of God and His great power to pro- 
duce it, would create the purifying influence of 
plant absorption and the ceaseless agitating air 
from land to cloud and back again which makes 
the air fit to breathe. 



MERCY. 193 

Our river is a cesspool, loaded with the sewage 
of a thousand miles. What but the power of God 
and His great mercy could purify that water every 
mile or so and give us water fit to drink? 

It is a law of nature that cold contracts and heat 
expands. Why is it that this law is so reversed 
that ice remains on top and does not sink, crushing 
out the life of all food fishes, and by repeated 
freezing and repeated sinkings deny us water — what 
but His mercy? These are facts which face us 
every day, teaching us God's mercy. 

So, too, as now, by every day experience He tells 
us of His mercy, of yore He taught the Israelites 
by symbols. The manna that came every day but 
one taught the holiness of Sabbath. The law was 
written — not in a substance which might bend, 
but on stern and solid stone which would not yield 
a fraction of a hair; while the mercy seat was 
overspread with gold, most ductile of all metals — a 
lesson of God's mercy in the wilderness — an object 
lesson of His mercy in the wilderness of time. 

The existence of God is the foundation of all re- 
ligion; the mercy of God, the foundation of all 
hope. Our world has oceans deep and broad but 
all have boundaries. Columbus turned his prow 
toward a shore he felt must somewhere be, and 
found it. Man can not think an ocean without 
shore, and yet, they tell us there is one — the ocean 
of God's mercy. We shall never understand this 
here ; it is a riddle for the future to disclose. 

They tell us "God is love." They say that it 
is written on the housetops and above the gates of 



194 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Paradise that within those gates the waters of 
salvation flow for the penitent and hnmble without 
money and without price. In sackcloth and with 
empty cups we sought those gates, but, alas, Jus- 
tice had closed them. In our despair we searched 
the book. In words of light we found there writ- 
ten "Whosoever will. ,, With confidence and joy 
we raised the open book and pointed to those let- 
ters sprinkled with blood. There was a cry. There 
was a struggle. We raised our eyes to see. The 
bolts and bars had fallen. Justice had disappeared 
and in the open gate stood Mercy smiling through 
her tears. 

It is said of a certain great military captain that 
when he besieged a city he set up a light to show 
that all who came out to him while that light 
burned should have mercy. But when was the light 
of God's mercy put out? Whether in heaven or 
on earth, when did it cease to burn, when or where 
grow dim? 

Man ever doubting, ever distrustful, ever mis- 
understanding, comes to God with this new prayer : 
"Tell me, O Maker of all things, how far thy mercy 
does extend?" "Dost thou care much to know, 
oh, creature of a moment? Wilt thou take much 
pains to know?" "No pain too great, Magnificent, 
no toil too arduous." "Then shall I teach thee; 
and, to that end, endow thee with unending earth 
life. Go build for me a mound of motes that float 
in sunbeams. When thy mountain is completed, 
then shalt thou know how long my mercy may en- 
dure." 



MEECY. 195 

Gladly man hastened to his task. He gathered 
motes and carried them to some vast plain. Days 
ran into years and single years to hundreds. Hun- 
dreds expanded into thousands and thousands into 
millions. When millions seemed to lose themselves 
in billions and even trillions threatened man, dis- 
couraged, then sought God. Said he, "I can not 
build the mountain, I have not even the foundation 
laid. The motes I gather in a century are swept 
away by storms or eaten by the birds. Eternity 
itself could scarce suffice to build the mountain.' ' 
"Then hast thou learned," said the Almighty, "by 
years of unremitting toil that which I have written 
and thou hast often read, but never understood, 
'the mercy of the Lord endureth forever.' " 

"God so loved the world, that he gave his only 
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him 
should not perish but have everlasting life." 

How heaven must have trembled with emotion 
when from lip to lip by angel voice it was pro- 
claimed that God would make this gift. How other 
worlds that have not sinned — if worlds there are 
that have not — others that knew earth's history; 
that oft had dropped a tear of sympathy and many 
a time had knelt before a throne of grace for fallen 
man — how shaken with amazement they must have 
been. And then, as the strange news rang back 
and forth from world to world, and system back to 
system through the endlessness of space; and the 
strange sights, a manger, life of penury ; and then — 
impossible! — a cross, uplifted cross? Was that, 
too, needed? Then I feel with the savage who ex- 



196 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

claimed, "If I had been there with my braves they 
never should have done it." 

Were there no cries of mercy to a God of mercy 
for a God of mercy? No mutterings of revolt, no 
hints of holy anger? How could the Father and 
the Son to all of that consent? Could God indeed 
so love the world? Could mercy be so boundless? 
— countless as the blades of grass, the drops of 
ocean, the minutes of eternity itself, putting in 
eclipse all other mercies of our God, possible to 
Himself alone? Is sin indeed so heinous and man 
so steeped in sin that nothing less than this can 
wash away the stain? 

"Depth of mercy! Can it be, 
That all of this was paid for me?" 

Then can eternity itself be long enough for all 
that I shall wish to say because "God so loved the 
world?" Walking on golden streets hot beneath our 
feet, dwelling in mansions He prepared for us, shall 
we not lay tribute on the friendliness of angels to 
teach us songs of praise for mercy they have never 
known, for they have never sinned? 

"Oh give thanks unto the Lord for he is good, 
for His mercy endureth forever." 



FAITH-WHAT IS IT? 

Our faith is like the rainbow, beautiful and 
brilliant. Is it also like the rainbow, intangible 
and fleeting? 

He said he was a hunter, and the forests teemed 
with game ; but, as it seemed to me, he never hunted. 

He said he was a fisherman, and the streams were 
filled with fish; but I noticed that he never fished. 

He said that he had been long absent. His home 
and all he loved were just beyond; but he lay su- 
pinely on the road, making no effort to go on. 

He said that he was ill. His hollow cheeks and 
shrunken limbs told fearfully of death. He said, 
while pointing to it, there is an herb that will re- 
store the invalid to health. And yet, I saw, he made 
no effort to procure it. 

I looked again. A plant was clinging to a rock. 
No soil was there. I said, why waste your strength 
on such a barren spot? It said, if I stay here I 
know that I shall bloom. I watched it, and it did. 

Above the plant, up farther on the rock, a bird 
was sitting on its nest. I said, why sit there? 
Those eggs may never come to anything. It said, 
I know these eggs will hatch and birds will come 
from them. 

Still farther up the rock I found a hive of bees. 
I said, why toil so much for stores that you may 

197 



198 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

never need? They said, though we have never 
seen a snow, we know that winter comes; we are 
preparing for it. 

Then I wondered — that the hunter who knew that 
there was game ; the fisherman who knew that there 
were fish; the traveller who knew his home was 
near; the invalid who knew that there were herbs 
beside him that would cure — I wondered that they 
did not hunt and fish and seek their homes, and 
reach out for the healing herbs; while the plant, 
the bird, the bee wrought out their various beliefs. 

And I asked my teacher why. He said, the plant, 
the bird, the bee believed exactly what they told 
you; the hunter, fisherman and invalid did not. 

"You mean each spoke a falsehood, each labored 
to deceive?" 

"Not you, but each had labored to deceive him- 
self, and had succeeded. 

A florist once produced a flower more beautiful 
than ever had been seen. It never withered and it 
never died. Other florists imitating, brought out 
flowers resembling it in color, but they faded. 

"How then shall I know whether the flower that 
I buy is genuine ?" 

"Only by the fading or continuing." 



FAITH. 

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, 
the evidence of things not seen." Heb. 11:1. 

While the word faith is in general use in every- 
day life, and in such uses is not misunderstood, in 
religion it has to many minds a mystical or doubt- 
ful meaning. But faith is faith, whether in re- 
ligion or in aught else. Where we have faith we 
believe; and believing, we trust. Is there anything 
more in it than that? 

And of all things in human life perhaps faith 
is the commonest. The child has faith in its 
mother, the husband in his wife, the wife in her 
husband. With confidence in the management of 
ships and trains we trust our lives upon the ocean 
or the railroad. We trust our lawyer and our doc- 
tor, and we trust our money to the bank. All part- 
nerships and all great enterprises — even treaties 
between nations — are based on the cohesive power 
of faith, without which, humanity would return to 
savagery. Why then, should that which binds to- 
gether all of the conditions of human life and which 
is so thoroughly understood in all, be misunder- 
stood in matters of religion? 

But still, I grant there is a difference. The 
child's faith is in a mother that it sees. So, too, 
of the partner and the husband and the wife. And 

199 



200 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

you ask me to have faith, in a God I have not 
seen. Yes, there is a difference. But what is that 
difference? Only this, that here there is a higher 
and a greater faith. And God requires that higher 
and that greater faith. Not as the faith of child 
in mother who is seen and touched by it. He has 
chosen to conceal Himself from us, while still re- 
quiring of us the faith that we would have if He 
were seen. Why He has done this I do not know, 
I only know He has. 

And this is the kind of faith which Paul calls 
a "substance of things hoped for." But how can 
faith be a substance? Faith is a condition of the 
mind. How can a condition of mind, how can any 
mental condition, be a substance ? Perhaps in King 
James' time the word substance did not mean ex- 
actly what it means now. At all events, I prefer 
Worrall's translation of this verse. "Now faith is 
an assurance of things hoped for, a sure persuasion 
of things not seen." In that translation I can 
understand Paul's statement. Faith, then, is not 
a substance, it is an assurance — an assurance to us 
that the promises in God's word are true. 

It is as though God said to us, While I choose 
to keep myself concealed from thee, in the firma- 
ment above and in the earth beneath, in every^ 
thing that breathes and in everything that is, I 
show to you my power. And in my book I show 
to you my will. He who believeth and obeys, to 
him I give eternal life. 

The two forms of faith would seem to be analo- 
gous if the mother, hidden from the child, yet 



FAITH. 201 

supplied the child with all its needs. But would 
she then be less the mother? 

Faith, then, is an assurance. I accept Worrall's 
translation. An assurance of what? Of ''things 
hoped for" Paul says. Things hoped for would 
seem to mean things future. But it is also an 
assurance to me of other things ; things of the pres- 
ent. Of what? Of many things I wish for — that 
if I try to serve Him here, I may be more a 
blessing than a curse to those around me; that 
though my faith be as a mustard seed, the atone- 
ment He provided will make up for my deficiencies. 

This as to the present. As to the future, I 
hope for an eternal life. I wish for it. I ask 
for it. I cannot consent to die. I wish to see 
and mingle with the great of earth and hear them 
talk. I am grossly ignorant; I have had no time 
to study here. I wish to learn. Geology interests 
me; chemistry fascinates me. I wish to know all 
sciences. I want to meet the teachers who can 
teach and I want to go into their classes. And as 
I know I cannot learn all things in what would 
be a lifetime here, I wish to live forever so that 
I shall have abundant time for learning them. 

Above all I wish to see the Christ and tell Him 
of my love for Him — the Christ who through dark 
Gethsemane and on the cross made all this possible 
for me. And as Worrall has revised King James' 
Version, making it read " faith is the assurance of 
things hoped for," I would revise both Worrall 
and King James, making the text read, not things 
I only hope for, but things I know that I shall 



202 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

have. For if, when I am ill I trust my doctor, 
knowing he may make mistakes, why should I not 
fully trust my Father and my God — who brought 
me to this world without my knowledge or consent 
— to see me safely out of it and give me all He has 
so richly promised — not the perfect or the simply 
good, but those who trust Him through the merits 
of His Son. I would then revise both Worrall 
and King James, saying, faith is an assurance of 
things made certain, a sure convincement o£ 
things not seen. 



HOPE. 

To hope? This is immortality. For what is im- 
mortality but hope? For ages past the unrespon- 
sive grave has swallowed up the burnings of the 
human soul and left it nothing but hope. The grand 
and noble actions; the unrecorded thoughts; the 
wild imaginings; the lofty aspirations, oftenest un- 
realized ; the loves and tears ; remorsenesses, repent- 
ances and pledges; all these, unmarked by head- 
stones, leaving not a shadow of their greatness, have 
sunk beneath the sod, leaving to those behind, only 
the heritage of hope. So, too, of thrones and em- 
pires. Moved by hope they rose, they struggled 
till they sank in death. 

When Eden fell and man was wrestling with de- 
spair, Hope rose above the shattered walls and 
pointed through the gloom to heaven's gates wide 
open. When Israel's sun was sinking, still athwart 
the clouded sky, the golden hues of Hope appeared. 
When at last that sun had disappeared and Israel 
was as rain drops driven by the wind, still, shining 
through those scattered drops, the sunbeams of God's 
promise, long imbedded in their history, Hope paint- 
ed on the distant sky. And that gorgeous rainbow, 
braving cloud and tempest, shall remain unshorn of 
beauty, glowing with undiminished lustre, till the 
Man of Galilee shall be accepted by His race. 

203 



204 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

Hope sometimes shines through narrow chinks and 
acts through humble objects. They say it was a 
spider that inspired the hope of Bruce, and a dream 
that filled the sails of Columbus. Hope raised the 
anchor of the Mayflower to sink it only on a shore 
where freedom's flag shall ever wave and God shall 
be forever honored. 

Before the springing pulse of youth Hope glitters 
in the distance; but distance lends but force and 
fervor to the chase. Age, stifled with the heat and 
dust of contest, strains its eyes to see the glory that 
has vanished; then, seeing another glory it had not 
seen before, humbly bows its head, in feeble accents 
murmuring, "Much that I hoped for has not come, 
but this that I hoped most for has appeared." 

Hope, then, is a gift, a treasure. Fortune may be 
lost. But Hope, moored to earth, and reaching unto 
heaven, wretched indeed is he who is forsaken by 
it. Deny me fortune, fame and friends; deny me 
everything the world calls great ; but leave me Hope. 
And still, though clouds shall gather on my life; 
though thorns and briars shall beset my path; 
though the love of those I cherish shall resolve into 
a bitter hate ; still leave me Hope, and in every fall- 
ing I shall seek to rise; in every struggle I shall 
strive to win, and in defeat I still shall look for 
victory. 

Someone has said, Hope palls before possession. 
Doubtless that were true if there were nothing left 
to be possessed, no heights to climb, no battlements 
to scale, no other worlds to conquer. To plant, to 
sow, to build, imagine, or conceive, Hope is the 



HOPE. 205 

prophet pointing to the end. Hope is a medicine, 
the universal cure for all the maladies of mind, but 
madness and despair. For these there is no remedy 
but death. Freedom to the slave though chained 
to galley oar; recovery to the sick though death 
hovers o'er the couch; achievement to the toiler 
though repeatedly cast down, and everlasting life 
"to him who overcometh" — these are the gifts of 
Hope. 

Hope! Does it not run through all created be- 
ings? Why does the bird sit untiringly upon its 
nest? Why does the moth so carefully protect its 
eggs from winds and storms? Why the beetle so 
toilsomely roll its ball to find a safe retreat? You 
say that all of this is instinct. But what is instinct ? 
Is it another name for Hope? The dog, deported 
in a car; the pigeon in a basket, that hopes to 
find its home and finds it, when man can not — you 
say this is but instinct? Then is instinct a higher 
gift than knowledge? What is instinct but a word 
invented to describe a thing we do not understand? 
And what are words? Hope implanted in the soul 
of man by God — who knows how much or little 
of it runs through all of His created beings? 

In the poem of Mahabarata, Pandavas hoped to 
take with him to heaven his faithful dog. You 
have not read "Rab and his Friends?" Then read 
it. Parts of it rise to the level of our purest clas- 
sics. Who knows how many animals there are in 
heaven, or what the hopes of so-called speechless 
beings are? 

Hope tones up depression. But, like all other 



206 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

tonics, must not be immoderately used. The doctor 
gives a stimulant — not for food but to arouse desire 
for it. Too much indulged in, Hope may become a 
sedative. But this is not Hope's mission. 'Tis not 
for her to clear the field, to cast the shuttle, to lift 
the burdens of humanity, but to inspire to these. 
Hope's glory and her duty are in her aspirations. 
As the toddling, stumbling, falling child yet learns 
to walk, so, too, with the writer, soldier, statesman. 
Hope does nothing of itself. The child, the man, 
does all. Hope is but the inspiration. He who 
relies on Hope to till the field, to throw the shuttle 
or to lift the burden, will have a rusted plowshare 
and an unturned sod; a web unwoven in the loom 
of time that ought to have been woven, and an ac- 
cretioned burden that neither hope nor happiness 
nor heaven itself can lift. 

The hope of winning Persia so inspired Alex- 
ander that, in view of.it, he valued nothing that he 
had and gave to his dependents all of his belongings. 
Such a noble disregard of values founded on a daz- 
zling future may not be possessed by most of us, 
but the Hope of Alexander that bloomed into reality 
may inspire lesser men to lesser deeds and lesser 
generosities. 

This world is said to be a vale of tears, and indeed 
it has its sadness. But has it not less cloud than 
sunshine? And is not every valley hemmed by 
hills whose tops are lighted by the rays of Hope? 
Only the mists that gather in the valley obscure the 
tinted heights above. How oft the upward turn of 
eyes, darkened by falling tears, might pierce the 



HOPE. 207 

gloom and gladden in the sight. Hope seeks to dry 
those needless tears, dispel the dread of things 
which never happen. To those who count it happi- 
ness to be unhappy, whose highest joy is misery, 
Hope's kindly ministrations are devoid of good. 
When this obtains, Hope, dreading the infection, 
spreads her wings and hastily departs. Where the 
twilight of discouragement resolves into the mid- 
night of despair, Hope has no mission. He who sold 
his birthright for a mess of pottage had no hold on 
Hope. 

Imaginary sorrows, Hope drives away; real ones 
she softens. Epictetus says, "I must die, but shall 
I die in sorrow? No, I shall die in hope." 

"What have you," says the noble to the peasant, 
"that causes you to boast equality with me?" "I 
have air and sunshine, and flowers that bloom for 
me as well as you, and I have Hope." 

Conceived and cradled in a mother's Hope, sus- 
tained by Hope in later life, and coffined in a hope 
of life eternal, Hope is the aliment of human souls, 
the dearest bequest God has made to fallen man. 
Without it life is but a struggle and a care. Only 
in the future is there joy — the golden-tinted fut- 
ure Hope holds out to us. What heart, respond- 
ing to the cry, will say I am now happy? Yet who 
has not a dream of happiness beyond? And though 
it be a dream — an expectation never to be known — 
is not the dream itself a happiness? Though it be 
the mirage of a lake the thirsty soul can never drink 
from, is 'not the mirage a cheer? Men charge that 
all of Hope's bright promises are not fulfilled. But 



208 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

then, whose are? Are those of Friendship, Love or 
Hate? And then whose fault is it if they are not? 
If weakness can not hold the plow ; if indolence de- 
clines to lift the load; if robust manhood pales be- 
fore the rugged way; if courage fears to grasp the 
sword, is Hope to blame? Do all earth's blossoms 
live to fruit? Does not the storm denude the tree 
of half its blooms? And is not this the law of life 
in family and field? Does not peace too often yield 
to strife, and mercy to f orgetf ulness ? Who has 
not seen joy bathed in tears and transports sunk in 
death ? 

Does Friendship never wander from the promised 
path? Do Faith and Love forever ride above the 
wave? Then why ask more of Hope than of all 
other gifts of heaven. And yet she can not over- 
come impossibilities. The bird that sits on china 
eggs — Hope can not hatch them. But let there be 
but one star shining in the murky waste; but one 
mast left on which to bend a sail ; but one lightning 
flash to glint the distant shore ; but one anchor left 
to hold the ship from sinking on the rocks — still, 
bending that last sail to that yet standing mast; 
grasping the tiller and steering by that solitary star, 
Hope shall dare the hidden rocks and anchor in the 
harbor. 

But Hope's fair promises are kept when man is 
equal to the task. And when, in brave struggles 
he succumbs, Fame, Hope's fair giver of rewards, 
recites his glories in a funeral dirge and garnishes 
his tomb with immortelles. 

And then, though few or none of Hope's fair 



hope. 209 

promises are kept, who had not rather dwell in gar- 
rets than in cellars? Who would prefer an outlook 
of backyards to nature in her waterfalls and grassy- 
knolls ? "Who would not wander in art galleries and 
feast his eyes upon the beautiful, or cull the treas- 
ures of a library and gather from the voices of the 
past? And this is Hope with all her promises for- 
gotten. With neither ownership of waterfall nor 
grassy knoll; without possession of the smallest pic- 
ture or the skill to paint; with neither library nor 
book nor power to write; yet, living in the higher, 
with the impulse of desire and the glitter of the 
possible, an ever distant star perhaps, but an abid- 
ing zest. 

They say Hope natters. Then, let it be so, and 
let me be forever flattered by her charms. They say 
that she deceives. Then, let me always be a victim 
of deception. They say that she allures but to de- 
stroy. Then let me be a slave to her allurements, 
a prey to her destruction. They say she is the siren 
that of old did lure the mariner to shipwreck. Then, 
shall I both tie myself unto the mast, and listen to 
her song and steer my bark toward it. Heaven 
has been bountiful in gifts; but among its greatest 
bounties is the gift of Hope. In the shadow and 
in the darkness, whatever else may disappear, do 
thou, oh Hope, forever still abide with me. 

If it be true "man never is, but always to be 
blest" that is all I ask. I can battle with the 
present, it is the future only that I fear. Let but 
the future weave its garlands for me; for the now, 



210 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

I am content to grub the sods of earth. I ask for 
no Nirvana where all earth's griefs are buried, for 
in Nirvana also is the grave of Hope. 

To find a Hope in senseless broodings over fate, 
philosophers have sought the hermitage or cave. 
But caves were made for wolves and bats and men 
who see no God in nature. The true philosophy is 
that which brightens, cheers — philosophy of Hope. 
Still, Hope is no philosopher. She has no theory, 
no rule of action. She does not chop up pros and 
cons; array one side against the other and subtilely 
divide with nice distinctions; she simply — hopes. 
She wears no wreaths of autumn leaves, but ever 
is a budding spring. She never is a sinking star, 
but always is a rising sun. 

Hope has no prison walls, no deathbeds. The 
shroud that shall embody her is still unwoven; the 
coffin that encases her, is still an unknown growth 
in forestry. The undertaker that shall wait upon 
her burial is yet unborn; the grave that shall en- 
fold her, still undug. And the digger of that grave 
must come from some unknown remoteness, for no 
digger of the grave of Hope can come from spheres 
we know. 

Hope lends wings to industry, reproaches sloth 
and nerves to effort. From the bubblings of hot 
water Hope led a Watts to see the engine that now 
parts the wave and holds the world of commerce 
in its grasp. 

In the mysterious power of light on iodine and 
silver Hope led Daguerre to flood the earth with 
images of love and beauty and then inspired a Morse 



HOPE. 211 

to string the world with wires and make of distances 
a neighborhood. Hate took the harmless iron from 
its bed and shaped it into swords. Hope lures peace 
congresses to dull their cruel points and bend them 
into plowshares. Doubt holds a veil before the 
future and hides its. light ; Hope lifts the veil and 
lo, the unimagined brightness! 

Have we seen some things Hope does? Let us see 
what she does not. She does not lessen joy, she does 
not lower or degrade. She is not an agent of 
misanthropy or a motive to despair. If now and 
then she is a castle builder, she never tears those 
castles down. If she excites the wheels of commerce 
to a greater speed, she never stops them. If science, 
delving in the night of nature, sets some new mys- 
tery ablaze, Hope does not wet the fire out, but lends 
her bellows to increase the flame. 

Without Hope what would humanity become? A 
stream without a current, a life without an aim. 
The sterility of human life Hope seeds with grasses, 
beautifies with flowers. The barren wastes and arid 
sands of discontent Hope irrigates with flowing 
streams. In rock-bound glens and distant realms of 
space she hides herself, persuading man to delve for 
gold and seek to penetrate the mysteries of God. 
In the depth of midnight darkness she whispers, it 
is morning somewhere now, and shall be morning 
here. Following her footsteps and with face toward 
her, the brightness is in front, the shadows are be- 
hind. 

What, then, is Hope? It is tomorrow smiling on 
today. It is the future beaming with unclouded 



212 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

light while the now is darkened by dismay. It is 
the sail that shall appear in the horizon to the fam- 
ished sailors on the raft. To the weary it is strength, 
to the downcast it is cheer. To the broken heart it 
is the uplift; to the penitent, the promise of a life 
beyond. And, shall I speak in contradictions? To 
the hopeless it is Hope. 

With all the purity of heaven and all its conscious 
certainty, still in that blest abode Hope can neither 
be an alien or a stranger. For, if there "be joy in 
heaven over one sinner that repenteth" there must 
be also Hope in heaven that the sinner shall repent, 
and that brings earth and heaven nearer to each 
other than we thought. And it may be that the fire 
of hell is this — that there, there is no Hope. 



LOVE 

What is love 1 This ought to be an easy question, 

but is it? Any one can tell what hate is, but what 
is love? And yet it is the commonest of all things. 
Its home is everywhere — in the city, in the hamlet, 
in the palace of the king and in the peasant's hut; 
in the swallow's nest, the spider's web and the 
fierce tiger's den. Of all things in life it is the 
commonest, and yet of all things it is the most 
precious, the most prized. It is the most unsel- 
fish of all things; and yet, of all things it is often 
the most intensely selfish. When once it finds ad- 
mission to the heart, the strong, the brave, the 
high, the mighty sink before it. It often is the 
woe of life; as often, too, the wildest joy, the 
deepest grief. 

It will sometimes rise to heights of grandeur, 
and then again, without resistance, will be trodden 
under foot. Its voice is music, swelling with ca- 
dences of distant choirs, but gentle as the soft fall- 
ing rain of summer. If its heights are boundless, 
so, too, are its depths unreachable. It has its follies 
and its strangely curious idiosyncrasies. Under its 
grotesque illusions age becomes youth, wrinkles are 
dimples and mediocrity is genius. Through its 
glasses every sage bush is a laurel, every milkmaid 
a princess and every soldier boy an Alexander. Its 

213 



214 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

glasses have the power to enlarge and to diminish. 
Where nature hath done well her beauties are in- 
creased; where she hath done meanly, her failures 
are unseen. By the wondrous powers of this glass 
the story of the Beauty and the Beast is found to 
be a fiction — there is no beast. Can the school girl 
paint the lily? Of course she can, and with more 
colors than the rainbow ever had. And the heavens 
are bluer, and the fields greener, and the birds 
sing sweeter, and the voice of one is higher, lower, 
gentler, softer than any ever heard; for curiously 
those glasses give not only power to see, but also 
power to hear. 

He was a foolish fellow who only asked that he 
might write a nation's songs. His songs might be 
unlearned; or learned, might be unsung. But with 
love's spectacles, the barriers to the heart of every 
man and woman, like the walls of Jericho, would 
fall before him. Love opens wide the eyes, yet 
they discern one object only. With it alone, the 
city is a wilderness, the desert is inhabited. Like 
flint and steel two natures meet and fire results. 
This is not old, nor is it new. 'Tis like the brook 
that rippling and bright, flows ever on through 
forest and through field, but ever with new wave- 
lets, blessing new flowers in its path. 

Love is a mystery. Torments surround it; yet, 
who would be unblessed by it? It is the spring 
perpetual philosophers have sought; the gold that 
alchemists have dreamed of. It is a bit of heaven 
let down to earth like a sunbeam beautiful and 
pure, and yet it sometimes has the scorch of hell. 



LOVE. 215 

What is love? It is a drug, a potion, sharpening 
the wits and dulling them; making the false seem 
true, the true seem false. It is a draught we swal- 
low, carrying both pain and joy as the quartz rock 
holds the gold and baser metal. It is a crave that 
finds a momentary rest, but only in itself. It is 
not indigenous to earth, and as a transplant, some- 
times grows feebly, sometimes well, but sometimes 
dies. Its breath is just as sweet within the cottage 
of the poor as around the monarch's throne. Hea- 
ven is its empire; scattered homes its colonies. 

From paradise to last night's casual meeting, 
love is love. Outside of family and friends few 
men would take the risk of it. But the man runs 
into it as the ship, without intending it, invades 
the storm; as one is caught in an unlooked-for 
shower. 

It is not that he wants to, it happens that he 
has to. He is a fly within the spider's net. Not 
that the spider weaves a net, not that there is a 
spider. Not even that there is a net. And yet there 
seems to be a net, for somehow he is entangled. 
It is the net of fate, the net of destiny, first spread 
by hands of one who knew the human heart; when 
not even fig leaves had been trained by mantua 
makers' art to hide the traceries of beauty. 

No other crown so fully fits a woman's brow as 
that of love, no other sceptre speaks so well her 
power. Love is a tyrant. Man is her slave. 
Against all other tyranny manhood revolts. Here, 
hugging his chains and kneeling, he implores the 
hand that smites. 



216 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Moore says, " There is nothing half so sweet as 
love's young dream.' ' He might have added, noth- 
ing half so bitter as that young dream despised. 

Pope says: 

"Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, 
And Venus sets e're Mercury can rise." 

But what a blunder! The highest flights of Mer- 
cury are often on the wings of Venus. Man gains 
or sacrifices glory as the goddess point, as at 
Acteon, where the great captain gave up every- 
thing to follow the Egyptian beauty. 

Love waits not for manhood's growth, but often 
builds her throne in childhood. Thus Byron was 
in love at frve ; and then again at ten he nearly died 
because another sweetheart married. 

What is love? We love all sorts of things — 
flowers and books and pictures. Who does not love 
nature? I have seen sunsets that were visions to 
me of what there must be in the great hereafter. 
Some love dogs. Some love horses. All love music. 
Then there is the love of country. This has pro- 
duced a William Tell — whether in fiction or in 
fact — an inspiration to the mountaineer whose only 
wealth is liberty. This, too, ennobling manhood has 
written in imperishable letters on the page of fame, 
Miltiades and Marathon, Leonidas and the Hot 
Springs. The love of art has warmed cold pigments 
into life and almost made the frozen slabs of marble 
speak. 

Charles Lamb loved roast pig and wrote a charm- 
ing essay on it. If he devoured the pig with half 



LOVE. 217 

the pleasure he has given to those who since have 
turned the pages of his essay he had a feast the 
Olympian gods might envy. 

Fletcher said, "I love fat goose as I love al- 
legiance." I am not sure about the allegiance; 
but as to the goose, I confess to a weakness for his 
taste. That is, if the goose had feathers, or had 
ever worn them. So, too, of Charles Lamb's pig — 
if still the pig were honored by all of the pedalian 
gifts with which a generous nature had endowed 
him. I know a little girl who can hardly eat or 
sleep because her doll is broken. The time will 
come when she will smile to think a doll had been 
a grief to her, but today it is a sorrow. So with 
us children of larger growth. In the retrospect of 
an oblivion, half remembered, half forgotten, with 
composure we view the loves that caused us pain; 
pain, we thought could know no mitigation. It is 
God's mercy that the smarting pains of yesterday, 
by the hush and lullaby of time, today are tempered 
to the dullness of a dream. 

So love is a plant of varied forms, a flower of 
many colors. Love, as commonly we understand it — 
man's love for woman and woman's love for man — 
has inspired the pens of poets and enriched the 
pages of romance. Amongst the leafy bowers of 
Eden it had its origin, and it has continued ever 
since, the only purity that Eden has bequeathed to 
us. 

The wayward boy, whom neither prayers nor 
tears can move — when faith gives up and hope de- 
spairs — for him a mother's love endures. 'Tis like 



218 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the rock that stands alone, that neither time nor 
tide can crumble. 

Parental love is universal; conjugal love almost 
so. A king of England, wounded by a poisoned 
arrow, his wife sucked out the poison, risking her 
own life to save her husband's. 

Cato, the censor, used to say the soul of a lover 
lived in the body of the one loved. This may ac- 
count, for the strange and unexpected things young 
men and women sometimes do. But then, when the 
things they do are subjects of reproof , whom should 
we reprove, the owner of the soul, or the custodian 
of it? 

Brutes love those who feed them ; birds, too, when 
they no longer fear. But there is no more unselfish 
love than the love of the poor dumb dog who bears 
a cruel master's cuffs and kicks and loves him still. 

The love of home makes barrenness a place of 
beauty. It is said the Cretans have a word for home 
which is equivalent to mother love, and travelers 
tell us that the Ethiopian thinks his wastes of sand 
were made by God, while only angels finished up 
the world. 

Love, though from heaven, is sometimes wicked, 
and the great gift of poetry is no protection from its 
snare. The mad love of Shelley for Miss Godson 
led him to forget he had a wife. And the daily 
suicides and other crimes for love but show how 
criminal the purest of all things may be. 

Love at first sight is a fruitful theme for the 
romancer; but Tyler's history gives a case of love 
without a sight at all. It tells us that one Geoffrey 



LOVE. 219 

Rudel, doubtless a distinguished man, fell in love 
with the Countess of Tripoli, whom he had never 
seen, and that thereafter, having been blessed with 
a sight of her, he had dropped dead for joy. 

A similar case, though opposite in sex, is told by 
Boswell of Sam Johnson. A young woman of Leek, 
where he had served his apprenticeship, conceived 
a violent passion for him and followed him to Leitch- 
field, where she took lodgings in a house across the 
street from where he lived. When he was informed 
that her love for him so preyed upon her that her 
life was endangered by it, he proposed to marry 
her; but it was then too late. She died, and died 
for love, perhaps the only instance, Boswell says, 
on record. 

Love, love of some sort, is no stranger to the 
human heart. Every man loves somebody or some- 
thing. Even withered up old barren-hearted bach- 
elors love children, and children love everybody. 
And love, like God's sunlight, while of all things 
most pervasive, is of all things too most purely 
democratic. In the old slave days — in some re- 
spects the happiest of all to whites and blacks — the 
children of the family, both kinky-haired and 
straight, on the old plantation lawn, tumbled to- 
gether in the free abandon of forgetfulness of caste, 
with affection for each other, and with a wealth of 
happiness that neither one of them may ever know 
again. 

With love so universal as we find it, still love 
is not without its limitations. For a man to tell a 
married woman that he loves her might be to her 



220 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

an honor, and yet to her it might be an insult. It 
is a sad misfortune that our poverty of language 
compels us to express our trivial attachments — for 
flowers, for animals, for pictures, for friendships 
and for books ; and our deepest, our holiest, our in- 
tensest thought, for wife, for children and for God 
— so widely different, so thoroughly unlike, all by 
that one thing that we call Love. Our language 
needs reform. 

We adore intellect, we are overcome by love. The 
soul has many thirsts. Love says, I only can allay 
them. It says I only can surround the life of man 
with happiness; I only tint its valleys and its hills 
with hope ; I only can assuage the griefs of man and 
— I will. This is love's promise. 

What, then, is love? Love in its highest? He 
who loves most — loves mankind most — is nearest 
God. The greatest love this world has known was 
seen on Calvary. Before that sacred spot with 
naked head and feet we kneel. We can not know 
a love like that. And yet, as a glass of water may 
suggest a sea, as a spark may tell the power of 
lightning, as beside the torrent of Niagara a but- 
tercup may hold a fragment of its mist — as these 
are likenesses of greater things, so may our love 
resemble that of Christ. 



THE GREATEST OF THESE. 

''Though I speak with the tongues of men and 
of angels, and have not charity, I am become as 
sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal." 

How beautiful the stars that glisten in the night 
and guide the traveler upon his way! How beau- 
tiful the flower that gives forth perfume to the 
air! How beautiful the grain that slowly fills its 
sheaves to nourish man and beast! How beautiful 
is charity that seeks abodes of poverty; that helps 
the widow and the orphan; dispenses to necessity; 
that sacrifices self and ministers to those who need 
— how beautiful, how Christ-like, how beautiful is 
charity ! 

Unclothed except in tatters, uncombed his hair, 
unwashed his hands and face, unbathed his per- 
son, — with shambling gait and furtive glance, he 
yet essayed to face the master in his office. And 
dumb, in supplication, with hat doffed and out- 
stretched hand, in mute request he asks for alms. 
The merchant tossed to him a dollar. I looked to 
see the record that the angel made. The names and 
date were there — the beggar and the merchant 
prince. The dollar, too, was credited, but opposite 
was written — ''tinkling cymbal." 

It was a grand and noble mansion. Silk hang- 
ings and gold chasings charmed the eye. Carpets 

221 



222 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

that yielded to the noiseless tread, and paintings, 
too, of priceless value from abroad told of the 
wealth and taste of those whose home it was. 
Equipages, with costly liveried footmen, filling the 
street, bespoke a gathering within, upon whose 
classic forms and faces, upon whose velvets and 
upon whose jeweled fingers, the faintly curtained 
globes shed soft and tender tints of rose. 

It was a gathering, a gathering of beauty, and 
as I discovered soon, of charity. And there were 
speeches too — speeches for suffering sisters, the 
poor, neglected, the depressed, the overworked of, 
shop, and sewing girls, with drooping forms, and 
faces thin, ground down by pitiless employments. 
The talk was they would feed the hungry, banish 
care, dispel pain and sorrow. How beautiful is 
charity ! 

Each speech was followed by applause beyond 
its predecessor as each described the weariness and 
woe of working women, till out the blaze of sym- 
pathy a glorious society arose with officers, direct- 
ors and committees for every form of doing; and 
copies for the press with names and dates and re- 
solutions all carefully arranged and written out. 

I hastened to the angel to tell the wondrous 
news. I found that he already had it. And oppo- 
site the resolution he had written — " tinkling 
cymbal.' ' 

Discouraged now, I wondered whither should I go 
to find the rare, the beautiful, the charity, so 
Christ-like. I remembered that the peasant who 
had given his only blanket to the stranger, freezing 



THE GREATEST OF THESE. 223 

in the snow, had later found the Christ enwrapped 
in it, and I resolved to take the path of holiness 
that leadeth to a temple of our God. There Christ 
is preached. There, there my search should end. 
There should I find true heaven-born charity. 

I went. The seats, the nave, were filled with 
worshippers. The organ sighed in sweet and sol- 
emn tones and then swelled out in rhapsodies. The 
melodies of prayer and praise, it seemed to me, 
must batter down the gates of unbelief, and, reach- 
ing up to heaven, bring down whatever blessings 
heaven could bestow. With slow and stately step 
the preacher reached his pulpit. With voice and 
gesture he portrayed man's duty in the ethics of 
society. And then, with eloquence of fire, the 
esthetics of right living between man and man and 
duties to the poor. I listened with enwrapped at- 
tention, assured, at last, that I had found true 
charity. And when the benediction closed, in elo- 
quent array of charity, I hastened to inspect the 
record of the angel, I found that he had written — 
" sounding brass and tinkling cymbal." To my 
expression of surprise he said, "That preacher 
keeps a regular account with us. He charges us 
with every sermon that he preaches, with every 
prayer he makes, and every dollar given to the 
poor." 

I said, "You keep accounts like that?" 
He answered, "We notice what they charge, we 
do not always credit. But sometimes, though, we 
credit when they do not charge. Here, for exam- 
ple, we credited a gambler with ten dollars given 



224 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

a poor woman turned out upon the street because 
she could not pay her rent. 

Here, again, a laborer in Mexham's shipyard. 
There was a strike and he was out of work. He 
and his little family were crowded in one room. 
For their dinner they had but one small loaf; but, 
hearing cries of hunger in the next room, they 
divided that one loaf and sent one-half into the 
other room. 

Church members? No; they never went to 
church; their neighbors thought them heathens. 

Here on this page is the account of a young 
doctor. Hard pressed to pay his board. Called 
to this case — a woman, sick herself with two sick 
children. She said, "You ought to have a liberal 
fee for coming up those rickety, half -broken stairs." 
He answered, "Yes, I think that is worth five dol- 
lars," and gave her the last five dollars that he 
had. 

Surprises? Yes. In the last analysis, in the gen- 
eral wind up, in the great assize where each and 
all, from Adam to the last inhabitant, must answer 
for himself, there shall be great surprises — some, 
because they followed when they thought they did 
not; some, because they did not follow when they 
thought they did. 

You do not understand? Did not the Christ 
Himself once say, "He who is not against us is 
on our part?" 



PRAYEK. 

With open arms and affectionate entreaty when 
our Lord was on earth He said to His followers, 
1 'Ask and ye shall receive." 

Did he mean it? Yes. No one will charge 
Jesus with insincerity. Was it a figure of speech? 
No, it was plain language. 

Among the millions of His followers on earth to- 
day do any doubt that He said it? No. And yet 
while they will not confess it, even to themselves, 
they really do not believe it because they have not 
found it true in their experience. 

Now, here is a strange paradox. The statement 
is true, undoubtedly true, but they have found it 
untrue. Certainly there is some mistake — state- 
ment and experience, surely they should coincide. 
They do not. Can we find the reason? Let us try. 

A famous scientist in England not many years 
since challenged a Christian world to test the power 
of prayer by dividing a charity hospital in two 
equal parts, one of which should be devoutly 
prayed for, the other not. And this was gravely 
heralded by infidelity as a fair test of the power 
of prayer. The gage was not accepted. How could 
it be? Saying nothing of its presumption, what 
Christian could ask God that those in this side 
should be restored to health and — impliedly at 

225 



226 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

least — that those upon the other side should be 
allowed to die? Would God hear such prayer? 

No, the Tyndall prayer test can not be accepted 
as a test, nor dare we put Omnipotence to any test. 
It is His to make conditions and ours to abide by 
them. He has said, "Ask and ye shall receive." 
But has He said we shall receive everything we 
ask for? What if we ask for things we should 
not have? 

There is a little hillock in Cave Hill that covers 
the remains of a dear little fellow who now knows 
more than I about this question, who once struggled 
in my arms and pointed eagerly toward a sub- 
stance he thought was sugar. I have no doubt he 
thought it hard in me and almost cruel because I 
would not give it to him. Indeed he showed sur- 
prise in every facial line because of my refusal. 
But I could not give it to him. It was not sugar, 
it was arsenic. And often I have thought since 
then when I have asked for things I did not get — 
I have wondered if it was not arsenic that I had 
asked for. 

Seeing, then, that we may ask for things that 
would be harmful to us, which thus in mercy are 
withheld, the thought occurs, is there any other, 
fault or weakness in our asking whereby the giv- 
ing is impossible or difficult? And this raises the 
question — 

How should we ask? 

To answer that our guide must be the Bible — 
in some degree our common sense. How then should 
we ask? 



PRAYER. 227 

1st. Earnestly. Ask as the sailor asks when the 
ship is going down. As the mother asks when the 
pulse is failing and the soul is flitting, that God 
will not take her child. I have great faith that 
prayers like these are answered. 

2nd. For what we need. We shall learn much 
and get nearer the Divine Mind if we remember 
that God loves us more than we can love our 
children. 

A child asks for bread. But it has just risen 
from its dinner. Does the mother give the bread? 
No. A crippled boy begs for skates. He might 
get mittens if he asked for them, but skates he 
can not use. He does not get them. 

I mumble over prayers. I have no feeling in 
them, there is no earnestness, there is no need. Can 
I expect answers to such prayers? Is it not with 
us and with our Father as it is with our children 
and ourselves? 

3rd. Pray short and to the point. Pray for what 
you want and quit. If you do not want anything, 
do not pray at all. Prayer without desire is near 
unto an insult. If fatigue were possible to that 
great incomprehensible Being we call God, He must 
be often tired of our elaborations of what could 
and should be simply said and quickly. 

"Papa," said a little boy, "does God sure enough 
know everything?" "Certainly, my son; but why 
do you ask?" " 'Cos the preacher is so long a-tell- 
ing him everything I thought maybe He didn't al- 
ways jest exactly know." 

Before the battle of Edgehill, General Sir Jacob 



228 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Astley threw himself upon his knees and raising 
his eyes toward heaven cried out, "0 Lord, you 
know how busy I shall be today. If I forget you, 
don't you forget me," and rising from his knees 
called, "Forward, march!" 

If Peter, sinking in the lake, had begun to pray 
for the heathen, and that the gospel might be sent 
all around the world, he might have drowned before 
he reached his point. But Peter had a better un- 
derstanding of the fitness of things. He prayed, 
"Lord, save, or I perish," and he was saved. 

The prayers of our Lord are models of brevity; 
but how expressive! "Father, forgive them; they 
know not what they do," expresses everything, and 
yet it is so tender it should melt the heart of 
stone. 

How should we pray? 

4th. Simply. "Except ye receive the kingdom 
as a little child ye shall not enter therein." 

5th. Persistently. Our Lord gave two lessons 
on that point — the unjust judge, and the man who 
called his neighbor up at midnight. 

I saw a paver on the street one day. His left 
hand rested on a block of granite while his right 
hand held a hammer. He struck and struck, but 
every time the granite threw the hammer back. 
At last it yielded. I thought — that is perseverance 
as our Lord taught it. 

How should we pray? 

6th. Carefully. I used to be afraid of it — what 
we call the Lord's Prayer. I think that I can say 
it now, but yet I am not sure. For years and 



PRAYER. 229 

years I dared not. Unless said without a meaning, 
— wherein it is no prayer at all — it is a dangerous 
prayer. I should not for my life teach it to a 
promiscuous assembly. Jesus gave that prayer to 
His disciples. Presumably, they might implore the 
Father to forgive them as they forgave the tres- 
passes of others, but few of us want God's mercy 
measured by our own. 

7th. With faith. Everywhere we meet with this 
condition. "If thou believest," "He that believeth 
and is baptized/' etc. 

Alas, how little faith we have. And yet how 
generously He takes the little for the much — the 
embers for the flame; the streamlet for the river; 
the puddle for the sea. 

Often we think we have faith when we have not. 
Thus a crippled woman, who lived on one side of 
a hill often wished that she could see the busy 
town life upon the other side. One night, reading 
her Bible, as was her wont, she fell upon the place 
where our Lord, chiding His disciples for their want 
of faith, added that if they had faith sufficient they 
might command the neighboring mountain to be 
removed into the sea. "There," said the good 
woman, "that is just exactly what I want. I will 
have that hill removed this very night." So, sum- 
moning all her faith, she asked for it and then 
retired to sleep. On the first peep of day she rose 
and drawing aside her curtain peered out upon the 
landscape. Lo, the hill was there. "I knew it," 
she said; "I knew it would be there." She simply 
did not have the faith she thought she had. And 



230 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

that is true of all of us. We say that we have 
faith and think we have. But who of us can but 
at the utmost say, "Lord, I believe, help thou my 
unbelief?" 

8th. With confession. This is hard to do. We 
do not like to do it, even in our closets. But, 
I have a splinter in my finger. It festers, it is 
sore. To remove the soreness I must get the splin- 
ter out. So with the burdened heart. It hurts to 
pull the splinter out, but the splinter must come 
out before the finger can get well. And so the sin 
must be confessed before the burdened soul can 
be relieved. 

How should we pray? 

9th. Humbly. Not brusquely; not with independ- 
ent tone, but reverently. 

It is said of Constantine the Great that he was 
one day looking at the statutes of noted persons 
who were represented standing: "I shall have 
mine taken kneeling," said he, "for in that way 
I have risen to eminence." It is in religion as 
it is in nature — the most richly laden boughs bend 
lowest. 

Does God grant requests against will ? Plainly 
He did when He gave Israel a King, and it may 
be dangerous to ask except in accordance with will. 

I knew a woman who, prostrate beside a cradle, 
called on God to save her child. "Save him, save 
him, oh save him," she exclaimed. 

"If it be Thy will, if it be Thy will," a friend 
beside her whispered in her ear. 



PRAYER. 231 

"No, no; oh, no; not if it be Thy will. I want 
my child," she cried. 

The prayer was answered, the fever was rebuked, 
child restored to life. But in bitterness and tears 
that mother lived to wish that her boy had died 
an infant. 

Slightly changing our question — 

Why should we pray? 

1st. Because it is commanded. 

2nd. Because it is honoring God. 

3rd. It is a proof of God. The impulse to look 
aloft for help when help is needed, imbeded in 
every human heart, civilized and savage, is a strong 
proof of God. For whence came that desire if there 
were not a God to plant it tliere. That which is a 
universal feeling of mankind is held to be a truth. 
It is said of Pericles that before he addressed the 
people he always sought the aid of the gods and 
of Scipio; that before he ventured on any import- 
ant undertaking he spent much time alone in the 
Temple of Jupiter, "feeling" after God, as Paul 
puts it, "if haply they might find Him." 

4th. Because there is a great power in prayer. 
It has opened prison doors; it has crushed the 
flinty rock. Impelled by faith it once held our 
solar system in its grasp. 

5th. What is prayer? It is weakness leaning 
upon strength. It is sorrow looking for relief. It 
is a child yearning for a father's love. It is a soul 
instinct with trust for something loftier than earth 
— a spirit soaring on the wings of faith toward the 



232 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

stars. It is a soul afloat upon a plank, scanning 
the horizon for a sail. 

6th. Why should we pray? Because God loves 
to answer prayer. Sir Walter Raleigh one day, 
asking a favor of Queen Elizabeth, was answered 
by her, "Raleigh, when will you leave off beg- 
ging?" "When your majesty leaves off giving," 
replied he. But the Christian, begging favors every 
day, is never chided for it. 

7th. Why should we pray? I know why I should 
pray. Because, O God, because I am so sinful. Be- 
cause my sins turn heaven dark to me. Because 
the path I tread is in the lowlands and beset with 
briars which pierce and tear my feet, and some- 
times I must get upon the high ground where there 
are no briars and the sun is bright. Because both 
gratitude and love — the little that I have — impel 
me; for a Father's love has guided me; has sur- 
rounded and protected me; has sheltered me and 
kept me from being even worse than I have been. 
I could not consent to cut the wire for a day that 
bears my simple speech to Him which to any other 
would be tiresome. And though my dull ears do 
not always hear His generous response, I know re- 
sponses come, for proofs of them lie all around me. 
He knows that I love but little; that constantly I 
wander; and yet He is so good and so forgiving! 
I know not how it is with others. Perhaps they 
do not need so much forgiveness, or so much guid- 
ance, but this is why I pray. 



THE CHRIST OF PROPHECY-A SKETCH. 

Perhaps there is some symbolism in the story of 
the beginning of mankind as told in Genesis; what 
if there is? There is symbolism all through the 
Bible. 

The one man and one woman in the garden 
seems to be attested by tradition. If the serpent 
.and the tree of knowledge are obscured by lan- 
guage, in some way they were there. The fall 
of man was natural. Man has always fallen. If 
it should be asked why God created him so weak, 
we do not know. But infants are created every day, 
and they are weak. 

Of all the griefs of human life, perhaps the 
keenest ever known was on the day when man 
and woman were expelled from Paradise. Since 
then, whether from cyclone or from simple storm; 
whether from love, from jealousy or hate; whether 
from war, from pillage or from plague; whether 
from disaster, disappointment or from death, there 
has been the preparation of observation or experi- 
ence. Here the blow fell, embittered with the 
shock of utter unexpectedness. With the clang 
of bolts and bars behind them and in a gloom 
that can only be imagined, one crumb of comfort 
was thrown out to them — "The seed of the woman 
shall bruise the serpent's head." 

233 



234 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

When? Where? How? That was not told. But 
it was a promise, and a promise made by one who 
never failed to keep a promise. 

When Eve became a mother, perhaps she thought 
the child that she had borne would be the Promised 
One. How little we know here compared with what 
we are to know. From starry heights and paths 
that mortals never tread — only from there shall 
Eve discern the solace promised. Among the many 
races of mankind, of all of whom Eve was the 
mother, where was that promise to locate? 

Noah had three sons. Through these as through 
dim glasses, while sight was failing, here he caught 
some glimpses from the great beyond, and in ad- 
vance he wrote earth's history in a dozen lines. 

" Cursed be Canaan. A servant shall he be to 
his brethren. Blessed be the Lord God of Shem. 
God shall enlarge Japheth and he shall dwell in the 
tents of Shem. ,, 

The promised one comes not in Japheth or in 
Ham. The blessing is in Shem. The schools may 
pour their wealth of treasure at the feet of Canaan, 
but he will still be found behind the chair of 
Japheth, while the ships of Japheth proudly ride 
the seas and his chariot wheels crush out all oppo- 
sition to his wishes. In government, in war, the brow 
of Japheth was not ever bared before his brothers, 
or his cheek blanched, or his eye quailed. And 
yet he turns him to the tents of Shem, and in the 
tents of Shem he kneels. Not, therefore, in Japheth, 
with all his power, much less in Canaan. ' ' The seed 



THE CHRIST OF PROPHECY — A SKETCH. 235 

of the woman" must be looked for in the line of 
Shem. 

Centuries rolled on. God beckoned out a man 
from Chaldea. Why not from the more cultured 
Egypt? I do not know. God seems not to have 
sought for culture when He wanted big men to 
do big things. This man was an idolator. God 
said to him, ''Come to me and I will give to you 
a country and a posterity/ ' and "in thy seed shall 
all the nations of the earth be blessed.' ' 

Does Eve observe the swelling of the promise? 

Abraham had many sons. It was said of one 
of them that he should be a wild man; that his 
hand should be against every man and every man's 
against his — prophecy enough if there were no other 
to invest the Bible with divinity beyond dispute. 

In her despair our heart goes out to Hagar^ 
driven from her home, but she has been well re- 
warded. With leveled lance and careless rein her 
son still rides the desert, hostile to all, obedient 
to none, a monarch in his wilderness. 

Isaac was a small embodiment of power, but 
the promise was kept up through him. Of his two 
sons, naturally, the promise should have been con- 
veyed through Esau, but it was not. Even as we 
ourselves have, God also seems to have His favor- 
ites. Perhaps the elder could not have carried 
out God's wishes. We do not relegate important 
things to feeble-minded people. We look for men 
of power when we have much to do. God seems 
to do so also. At all events, Jacob was the chosen 
one, and he became the carrier of the promise. 



236 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Truth sometimes comes in unexpected ways, from 
unexpected lips. One once asked the question, 
''What is truth?" careless of what it was, or will- 
ing that it should be other than it was. It seems 
impossible to think of the great gift of prophecy, 
prostituted to the gutter, ignobled to untruth, and 
yet it once was. "I shall see him but not now. I 
shall behold him, but not nigh. There shall come 
a star out of Jacob and a sceptre shall rise out 
of Israel. Out of Jacob shall come him who shall 
have dominion." These were the unwilling words 
of Balaam. Gifted, though unworthy, what did 
he see? Looming in the distance, a sceptre and, 
in the yet more distant future, "The seed of the 
woman," brilliant as a star. 

When Jacob came to die he attempted to fore- 
cast the future of his sons. Much of what he 
said we can not understand. But when he came 
to Judah, with hand upon his head, and with a 
power which robs what is to be of all of its un- 
certainties, he suddenly exclaims, "The sceptre 
shall not depart from Judah until the Shiloh 
comes." The Shiloh? Who was the Shiloh? Alas, 
only waiting ages could explain. We linger with 
surprise on these abnormal incongruities — a peas- 
ant, a nomad and a sceptre. There must be a scep- 
tre, there must be a Shiloh; but before the Shiloh 
comes, the sceptre must depart. 

Narrowing as we go we find the "seed of the 
woman" comes through Noah, Shem, Abraham, 
Isaac, Jacob, Judah. Somewhere, too, along the 
ages it shall have the brightness of a star. Some- 



THE CHRIST OF PROPHECY — A SKETCH. 237 

where, too, along the ages there shall be a sceptre. 
But as sceptres often do, that sceptre shall depart 
before the star appears. 

With all His other gifts, the gift of prophecy 
was not denied to Moses. Among his visions of 
the future he perceived the coming one. To him, 
the Shiloh was a prophet like unto himself; and 
indeed the resemblance was acute. Each preached 
a new religion, each brought a people from a wil- 
derness. And if one led his people to a Canaan 
here, the other leads His people to a Canaan not as 
yet beheld by us. 

The seventy weeks of Daniel were figured as a 
school boy might cipher out a sum upon his slate. 
Even the results so far escaped the cloisters of the 
rabbis that heathendom was in a state of expec- 
tation. 

The last of the prophets told where the Shiloh 
should be born. Then the trumpet and the cymbal 
ceased. Four hundred years thereafter Bethlehem 
was enthroned. Wise men brought gifts. In a 
manger there was a Babe. From the nerveless hand 
of Judah the Sceptre had departed. The Seed of the 
woman, the Star of Jacob, the Shiloh of the nomad, 
had come. 



THE NIGHT WAS STiLL 

The night was still, the firmament was robed 
in beauty. Stars twinkled as they always had — not 
the same stars, but other stars just like them. 
Moonbeams fell softly on the plains, driving the 
shadows to their dark retreats. Shepherds with 
staff and crook lay wearily upon the ground guard- 
ing their flocks. Suddenly from out the shining 
sky strange sounds were heard, strange sights were 
seen. Beings from afar flooded the air with bursts 
of melody unheard before by earth's enraptured 
ears. They sang of victories achieved, of triumphs 
won, while minor chords that spoke of grief and 
pain were woven in their strains like the sad sough 
of leafless trees or the mournful plaint of waves 
the dying tempest casts upon the beaten shore. 

Time, time ; oh, time ! How the world had wait- 
ed! Generations had appeared and disappeared. 
Men came; men lived; men died. The human heart 
throbbed on. And still the coming centuries but 
echoed back the throbbings of the centuries before. 
It was the yearning of the soul for something it 
had not. As though the magnet could not find its 
pole star; as though the arch stood waiting for 
its keystone. And still humanity sped on, nor 
lingered in its course because the voice of prophecy 
was hushed. 

238 



THE NIGHT WAS STILL. 239 

And now a strange star appears. Following its 
creator from afar, clearing for itself a pathway 
through the constellations, and guiding wise men 
in its aerial flight, it rests a coronet above the cra- 
dle of a Child. Hell felt a pang; heaven rejoiced. 

Hope shook out her banners furled since Eden fell. 

# # # 

"Shepherds of the plains of Bethlehem, what did 
the angels say?" 

"They said the Child of Destiny was born before 
whose march the eagles that consumed the Gaul 
and crushed the fierce Helvetti should bow; be- 
fore whose footsteps thrones should crumble, tem- 
ples disappear; while on the ruins of both throne 
and temple, a purer temple and a loftier throne 
should rise. They said that in the onward course 
of thought that Child should lead and all that earth 
should ever know of goodness it should learn from 

Him." 

# # * 

The cross was a necessity; the crown of thorns 
a harsh and cruel emblem of the homage a later 
kneeling world should yield. Without the cross 
the Sermon on the Mount had scarce survived 
the age of parchment and Jesus would have been 
forgotten. Savonarola lives because He died. In 
the blaze of burning fagots the heroism of the peas- 
ant girl of Orleans will still be read. 

The tragedy of Calvary would have immortalized 
the man, though He had not been the Christ. But 
Calvary was more than heroism. The blood that 
drenched Golgotha's sands that day has cleansed 



240 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the souls of myriads since then. The voice which 
in altruistic tenderness spoke "Paradise" to a re- 
treating soul has echoed comfort to the penitent 
forever since, and the heart that ceased to throb 

that day still throbs for all mankind. 
# # # 

When He stood without a friend it was then He 
was a victor. When He was hopelessly defeated it 
was then He was triumphant. He had to fail in 
order to succeed. Paganism would have had more 
votaries, false religions more success, if they had 
had a Cavalry; but God denied them this. 

Jt 4b 4b 

W w w 

The stars shall fade and die, and other stars shall 
rise and shine, which in their turn shall perish. 
But still, the star of Bethlehem that shone upon 
the cradle of the Child shall glitter in the firma- 
ment of thought, a message from the infinite, a 
hope for man. 



JESUS. 

I have been at no little pains in trying to think 
what I can say to you young Christians that will 
be of any use to you, and it may seem to you when 
I get through that I have spent both my thinking 
and my speaking to very little purpose, for my ob- 
ject will be to perpetuate — not strengthen, nor in- 
crease — but perpetuate your faith, and you may 
think that entirely unnecessary. But I have known 
strong ships drag their anchors and drift on lee 
shores, and I have known strong faiths foundered 
on the rocks of infidelity. 

Your faith may never need protection, but it may. 
If the little I may say tonight may help to hold your 
anchorage if storms arise, my talk to you shall not 
have been in vain. 

You now accept the Bible and all it says without 
a doubt. Others have done so who afterwards be- 
came skeptical. The simple faith, the childlike faith, 
as we sometimes call it, is the most beautiful if it 
will endure, but it will not always. Dangers to the 
Christian's faith lie all along his life, and few, I 
think, reach advanced age entirely escaping them. 
A large percentage of church members have a dim 
belief in Christianity, some few have next to no 
belief at all. I have heard some such confessions, 
but, as a rule, such people hide their thoughts. 

241 



242 THE WRITINGS OP THEODORE HARRIS. 

Your president referred to such as these last night. 
Commonly such people stay away from church. 
Sometimes they go to church to keep up the ap- 
pearance of belief. But all these once had faith, 
perhaps as strong as yours. How did they lose it? 
Some in one way, some in another. The young 
man who goes away to school or business, and does 
not take his letter to another church, invites dis- 
aster to his faith. The young man or woman who 
in the company of strangers stifles his or her sense 
of wrong, and smiles approvingly or acquiescingly 
on jests and sneers about the Bible or religion, 
as it more often is, the Sunday school, can not blame 
others if they lose their faith. These often are be- 
ginnings. Christians, by whom the Bible is an un- 
used book, and who willfully absent themselves 
from all places where its principles are taught, 
need not conceal the fact that their faith is waning. 
I do not know the man, but he must have been an 
adept in irony, or at least a very funny fellow, who 
invented the phrase "family Bible" for a book, the 
only purpose of which would seem to be the reg- 
istering of births and deaths and marriages. Per- 
haps some blessings may accrue to those whose 
names are thus familiarly enclosed between the 
prophets and apostles. But an intimate acquaint- 
ance with their neighbors might have more results 
and better. 

Among the causes of loss of faith are deaths of 
loved ones. These, instead of turning hearts more 
toward God often turn them away from Him. 

Infidel books and lectures form another cause. 



jesus. 243 

These have no real argument, but by their ingenious 
speciousness catch the eye and ear of unlearned 
Christians. A prominent merchant, a member of a 
Presbyterian church, once confessed to me that the 
reading of an infidel book had led him to disbelieve 
the Bible, and from that beginning he had gone on 
in unbelief until he then believed there was no God, 
and, more than that, he knew no reason why there 
should be one. 

I have read the book he spoke of. It is a dan- 
gerous book to such as he, who, although a member 
of a Christian church, knew little of the Bible, and 
even less of outside history. To those well up in 
these it is as harmless as "Jack the Giant Killer,' r 
which we all read in childhood, and so far as known, 
has done no harm to any one. But I take it "Jack 
the Giant Killer' ' is not strictly true, nor is the 
other book. I am not surprised that thinking men, 
not up in history and Bible lore, should doubt. The 
only wonder is they do not doubt. 

To help to fortify your faith then — not now, but 
in the future, if it should ever be endangered — is 
the object of my talk to you, and I have chosen for 
my subject Jesus, and the burden of what I shall 
say will be to show, not that He was divine, but 
that it is impossible that He was not divine. 

If I were to attempt to present the positive proofs 
of Jesus, I should begin with the Garden of Eden, 
where He was first promised; I should then follow 
Him through the prophecies down to His life on 
earth; then from Bethlehem to the cross, and after 
that, would add the proofs of His divinity as shown 



244 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

by His religion, tested by eighteen centuries of time. 
These are the positive proofs. They are the strong- 
est; they are much stronger than anything that I 
shall say, but in a general way you are familiar 
with them, and besides they are accessible to you 
in books. 

The proofs that I shall offer — if indeed they may 
deserve to be called proofs — are rather of a nega- 
tive character; perhaps I should say hypothetical. 
But first I wish to lay down this proposition and 
ask your special attention to it. The human mind 
can not conceive of anything it has not seen, or 
heard, or heard of, and toward which in no way 
it inclines. If this be true, Jesus could not have 
been imagined, He must have lived. Let me illus- 
trate : 

The lives of such great conquerors as Alexander, 
Caesar and Napoleon; of such great patriots as 
Leonidas, who stood guard before the passway into 
Sparta, and for two whole days with his brave three 
hundred held back the largest army the world has 
ever seen; of such great martyrs to the cause of 
truth and law as Socrates; of such discoverers of 
nature's laws as Newton, Galileo and Edison; of 
such great poets as Milton; such great money- 
makers as Carnegie; these, or counterparts of 
them, might all have been imagined and written 
though they had never lived. Why? Because there 
is in every human breast some love of war, some 
admiration for the hero, some stubbornness for 
truth, some love of poetry, some disposition to ac- 
quire, and some desire to snatch from earth and 



jesus. 245 

air the secrets they conceal. These are the common 
traits of human nature. But what penetration of 
the mysteries of nature ; what uplift of intellectual 
greatness; what stretch of human ingenuity, even 
the wildest, could ever have conceived a character 
at all resembling that of Jesus? 

Shakespeare never saw a Hamlet or Macbeth, 
but he knew the human heart; he knew the daring 
of ambition, he knew the horrors of remorse, and 
he portrayed them. Shakespeare, perhaps, painted 
every phase and form of human nature that we 
know of — did he ever paint a Jesus? Why not? 

"Imagination!" said that intellectual giant of a 
hundred years ago to one who said, contemptuously, 
"It is only imagination;" "Imagination rules the 
world." There is some truth in that, but still, 
imagination has its limits. You may imagine any- 
thing the like of which you have seen, or heard, or 
read, or heard of; or which, though you have never 
seen, or read, or heard of; or heard of anything like 
it, yet something which agrees with some feeling or 
some prompting of the human heart. But there 
imagination stops. It is impossible that it can go 
further. Beyond our knowledge, beyond our feel- 
ings and beyond our impulses there are no wings. 
Test this statement in a simple way. Suppose that 
you had never seen v a tree, and in all the world 
there had never been a tree, or anything resembling 
a tree, how could you have imagined a tree, stand- 
ing alone, upright and unsupported, with its 
gnarled-bark and its outstretched, leafy boughs 
toying with the sunlight? If through the whole 



246 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

world there had never been a tree, could you have 
imagined one? I think not. Now, in other spheres 
there may be many things of which we have no 
knowledge, which are as common to people living 
there as trees are to us here, but you and I can not 
imagine them. 

I wish to make this proposition clear — that the 
human mind can not by any possibility imagine 
anything to which it has no clue. If, then, beyond 
our knowledge, feelings, thoughts and impulses 
imagination finds no wings, no stepping-stones, no 
ladders, how could she have built up a character 
like that of Jesus? If she could not, it follows 
Jesus must have lived. 

As the man who builds a house must have the 
ground on which to build; as the man who flies a 
kite must have a standing place from which to fly, 
so imagination must have some foundation for its 
flights. It may be a fact, or it may be a thought, 
but it must have, at least, a thought. Now was 
there ever in the world before He came a thought 
of such a man as Jesus? 

Even many things which do not exist can not be 
imagined by all people. Thus, on his return from 
a voyage, a sailor boy was telling his mother about 
the strange things he had seen. She listened de- 
lightedly, until he spoke of flying fish. There she 
interrupted him. "Now, John," she said, "you're 
a lying. You know you are. I know no fish can't 
fly." Her imagination could not take in the com- 
mon truth of a flying fish. And I do not blame her, 
for I was always incredulous about that truth my- 



jesus. 247 

self, and all day long, the first time I ever saw fly- 
ing fish I watched them, thinking they were birds. 
Nor could the untutored denizen of the tropics ever 
imagine water hardening so that we might walk 
upon it — a fact familiar to every boy who is the 
proud possessor of a pair of skates. But imagina- 
tion must have stepping-stones or ladders. With- 
out these imagination can not rove. So you can 
imagine a flying-machine though you have never 
seen one. But could you have ever imagined a fly- 
ing-machine if you had never seen a bird or insect 
on the wing? Think before you answer. 

So, too, we hear of ships which sail beneath the 
surface of the sea. But could the idea of a ship 
sailing beneath the surface have ever entered the 
mind of man if he had never seen a fish? To go 
still further back, could the mind of man conceive 
that any animal could live and grow beneath the 
surface of the sea if there had never been a fish? 
Can the mind of man conceive a thing which has 
not been, is not, and in the whole range of human 
observation there has not been the slightest hint 
of? I think not. If, then, imagination can not 
paint an aerial machine to one who had not seen 
a bird or insect; a ship to navigate the ocean's 
hidden depths to one who had never seen a fish; 
or the fish itself, to one who did not know that 
animals might breathe and live and flourish in the 
sea; how could she create the greater wonder — the 
Man of Galilee ? 

To repeat: You might imagine a great warrior, 
though there had never been a war; you might 



248 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

imagine martyrdom, though there had never been 
a martyr; you might imagine goodness and benevo- 
lence, though there had never been a Howard; you 
might imagine self-sacrifice, though there had never 
been a Father Damian; you might imagine a Nero, 
though you had never known a man so heartless 
as to kill his mother; you might even imagine a 
Mrs. Place, though it would be difficult to think of 
a mother poisoning her child. You might picture 
to yourself any or all of these and many others 
that are or have been, because some of the prompt- 
ings of the human heart — your own, perhaps — 
lead up to them. But what wildness of imagination, 
what loftiness of genius could ever have imagined 
a character like that of Jesus, of which the world 
presented no example, of which there was no type 
or pattern, and toward which the human heart had 
not a single impulse? 

Shakespeare could conceive a Shylock, and the 
mind of Dickens form a Little Nell, but the world 
was full of Shylocks and of Little Nells. But where 
was the pattern for a Jesus? What author ever 
wrote a Jesus? Why has no author ever written 
one? 

Again: Suppose the lower animals to be, like 
you, endowed with intellect, and here is a lion that 
is a novel-writer. I say to him, "I wish you 
would write a book for me in which the characters 
shall be a lion and a lamb. They shall be upon a 
barren island, food of no kind can be found and 
both are starving. Suddenly a friendly wave 
throws up upon the beach a food which either one 



jesus. 249 

of them may eat. The lion finds it, refrains from 
eating it himself and gives it to the lamb. The 
lamb lives; the lion, starving, dies. Those are the 
characters I wish you to portray." 

The lion author, staring at me in amazement, 
immediately exclaims: "I can write no such book; 
I can create no such characters. Such a book would 
be unreasonable ; it would be unnatural ; it would 
be absurd. I know lion nature; there never was 
a lion who, in such a case, would give the lamb the 
only mouthful. Indeed, in such a case as you de- 
scribe, where was a hungry lion and a lamb within 
his reach, the island which contained the lion and 
the lamb would soon contain the lion only, the 
lamb would disappear. Such a book would be 
ridiculous. I can not write it." And so, the lion 
author, rejecting the absurdity, refuses to create 
a character which in all the range of lionhood, had 
not existed, could not exist, and therefore could 
not be imagined. 

And so with human writers. As already said, the 
genius of a Shakespeare could create a Shylock, 
and the imagination of a Dickens could conceive a 
Little Nell, because these were but natural out- 
growths of the human mind; but as the lion author 
could not forge a lion that had never been, neither 
could the mind of man conceive a character as for- 
eign to the mind of man as the lion in our fable 
was to lionhood. Such a lion could not be imagined, 
nor could such a Jesus. Jesus, therefore, must have 
lived — He never could have been imagined. 

But we need not go to lionhood for information. 



250 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Take the American Indian, perhaps the noblest 
specimen of human nature, unmodified by circum- 
stances or school. Ask him. "Do you love your 
enemy?" He looks at you with scorn, and grasp- 
ing his tomahawk more tightly, he answers, for his 
enemy he has but hate. Tell him it is noble to for- 
give. He answers, "It is craven to forgive. He is 
most noble whose wigwam most abounds with 
scalps." Tell him there was a man who taught 
revenge was wrong; that if smitten on one cheek, 
the other should be offered for a second blow. He 
answers with contempt, "No such man has ever 
lived." Like the lion author, who declared there 
could be no such lion, the child of nature says there 
could be no such man. 

But why go back to lionhood or Indianhood to 
find what human nature is and does ? You tell your 
boy that it is wrong to fight. He adopts your 
theory ; he acquiesces in your teaching. That is, 
you think he does. But next day you find him giv- 
ing blow for blow. Why? It is boy nature. Why 
is it boy nature ? It is human nature. 

If, then, this be human nature, if — not forgive- 
ness but resentment is an attribute of human nature 
— unless the mind of man can create a thing to 
which it is a total stranger; of which it has and 
can have no conception, how could the Man of 
Galilee have been imagined? In heaven He might 
have been, but never upon earth. No; Jesus must 
have lived. The Gospel must be true. It is not 
possible imagination could have woven such a char- 
acter. He never could have been imagined. 



jesus. 251 

The life of Jesus from the Jordan to the cross is 
a most astounding puzzle. The more you try to 
think it, the more you feel you can not think it. 
You can trace the lives of all others who have 
lived, so far as they are written, in all their moods 
and tenses, and see, or think you see, their causes 
and effects, their motives and their springs of ac- 
tion. Only the life of Jesus baffles you. Here all 
rules of judgment, fitting all other cases, fail. 
Neither as God or man is Jesus understandable; 
nor is your difficulty lessened when you try to 
think of Him as both. 

Standing on the beach as He emerges from the 
Jordan; following Him thereafter on His march to 
Calvary, each step a new surprise, you wonder if 
the mists which seemed to gather round Him in the 
wilderness have ever been entirely dispelled until 
the brillance of the cross forever scattered them. 
The shore of Jordan suggests to you another shore 
from which the footsore man that you have seen 
upon the slopes of Galilee — like the wandering star 
that followed Him to Bethlehem — has come. 

You see, but can not understand. You put to- 
gether facts as children gather nosegays from a 
generous field, not knowing why the violet is blue, 
the daisy white, or whence the perfume comes. You 
see a strange commingling of weakness and of 
power; of what is plainly human, and of what is 
plainly more than human. You wonder if, as boy, 
like other boys, in obedience to His mother, He ran 
on errands to the neighbors ' houses; or, for the uses 
of the family, morning and evening, He filled His 



252 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

water- jar at the gushing spring which is still the 
only water works of Nazareth, and — if He then 
knew Himself? You see Him with the saw and 
plane, fashioning rough benches for the needs of 
peasant buyers, and you ask yourself, Where did 
the carpenter leave off; the God, if God, begin? 
You ask yourself a thousand questions which you 
can not answer, and end by kneeling before the 
man of mystery to touch — if not his hand — even the 
remotest hem that glistens in the glory of His 
garment. 

The puzzle of the life of Jesus is not so much His 
unique birth, for other virgin births have been pro- 
claimed. Not even so much His resurrection, for 
ghosts had always been imagined; but this double 
character; this two in one; this strange mixture 
of the human, and what could be nothing else than 
more than human. 

It is said of a man and woman married, they are 
one. As an abstract statement you assent to it; 
but you recognize no oneness in the two, and to 
your senses they continue to be two. But here is 
one, we are told, who is both God and man. To 
your senses he is but one. So far as we can know 
the attributes of God, He acts as God. But He eats 
and drinks and sleeps as man; while at the same 
time He does other things man can not do, and we 
can not think that any one but God can do. And 
outside of His miracles, in His simple daily life, He 
acts as man had never acted, and as none has 
ever acted since. He does the most unusual things 
and in the most unusual ways. 



jesus. 253 

Coming from heaven, as we are told, to reform 
this world, you would have come with a retinue of 
angels and to some kingly court, if for no other 
reason, in order to more speedily accomplish the 
object. He came, a helpless infant, into a peasant 
family. They say He is both God and man. What 
part is God, what portion man? I see Him touched 
by human grief; I hear Him tell what shall be. Is 
it the heart that is the man, the intellect the 
God? Or is there a complete union of the God and 
man in every fibre of the heart and brain — strength 
of God, modified by human weakness, as the sun's 
rays are softened to us by the atmosphere through 
which they come? No; it is not the virgin birth, 
nor even the resurrection — the stumbling-block to 
Greek and Jew alike — which is to me the greatest 
puzzle. It is this incomprehensible duality which 
nothing can explain. It is this that overpowers me. 
Man commanding the waves, stilling the storm. 
God, with no place to lay His head. Man, promis- 
ing mansions in the skies. God, washing peasants' 
feet. Man, daring to forgive sin. God, weeping at 
the grave. Man, robed in garments of celestial 
light, with messengers from heaven doing homage 
to him. God, in an agony of soul exclaiming, "Oh 
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the pro- 
phets and stonest those that are sent unto thee! 
How often would I have gathered thy children to- 
gether, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under 
her wings, and ye would not." Man, healing the 
sick, raising the dead, scattering miracles with 



254 THE "WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

lavish hand. God, hungry in the wilderness, man 
feeding thousands with a handful of bread. God, 
sinking in Gethsemane. Man, or man and God, 
upon the cross. Oh, mystery of mysteries! We 
can not understand a suffering God, and yet we 
can not understand Gethsemane and Calvary with- 
out a God. Such strange contrasts! Such appar- 
ent contradictions? Could such a character have 
been invented? 

Nor do those seeming paradoxes end with this — 
the most liberal of teachers, He was yet the most 
intolerant, the most exacting. For while the priests 
of Jupiter might kneel before all other altars, He 
demanded that those who accepted His religion 
should pander to no other. If His, His only. Say- 
ing that His yoke was easy, He yet required that 
for Him both father and mother, wife and child r 
should be forsaken. Preaching a gospel of peace, 
He yet declared He came to bring a sword. Often 
Himself athirst, He yet proclaimed, "If any thirst 
let him come unto Me and drink." Often Himself 
fatigued, He yet offered rest to all others who were 
weary. Claiming to be a king, He yet sought no 
royal honors and companionated with the lowly. 

Nor is He less surprising here. Coming for a 
purpose, He yet left the world apparently without 
accomplishing that purpose. Plainly intending to 
create a church, He yet organized no society, He 
formed no constitution, He never wrote a line, but 
still, like His sower that went forth to sow, He 
scattered seeds which changed the moral thistles 



jesus. 255 

of the world to flowers, and laid foundations for 
a church 'gainst which the waves of time and in- 
fidelity have lashed in vain. 

I have somewhere heard of one who for more than 
twenty years had labored on a marble shaft to make 
a man of it. Standing before it when completed, 
and lost in admiration of its beauty, forgetting 
that, with all its liveliness of form and face, it had 
not life, he suddenly exclaimed. "Speak to me!" 
"Speak to me!" again he cried, but the marble did 
not speak. Enraged because of its continued silence, 
he rushed up to it — "Speak to me!" again he 
fiercely cried, striking it upon its face. Alas! it 
could not speak ; it was but stone. But when among 
the crowd of mourners, with two broken-hearted 
women clinging to Him, without emphatic language, 
but in the simplest form of speech the Man of 
Nazareth said, "Lazarus, come forth," the marble 
trembled into life and — Lazarus arose. 

This world is full of mysteries, but Jesus is its 
greatest mystery. We see Him in His busy life ; 
but yet, we only see Him dimly — as a panorama in 
a dream, its shifting figures ever complex, unnat- 
ural, but ever beautiful. His tread through time, 
before and since that busy life, stands out before 
us as a grand symphonic poem, written by no earth- 
ly pen, wherein the smoking altar was the prelude, 
the wilderness the adagio, and the cross the climax. 
The finale yet lingers in the dim distance of the 
silent future. Never until that last movement comes 
upon the boards can this grand symphony be un- 
derstood. Then I think the dissonances and sus- 



256 THE WHITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

pensions of the manger, the wilderness, the gar- 
den and the cross shall be resolved. 

I know not when the trumpet shall be heard to 
call the orchestras of earth and heaven for this 
last act, I only know it shall be. No distant star 
shall then be needed to guide the hesitating steps 
of wise men. The way to Him shall then be plain. 
"I am the way, I am the life." 

No, the Man of Nazareth — I can not understand 
Him. His miracles astound me, the glory of His 
cross dazzles me. But the wonder of His life sur- 
passes all. Look any way I will, my fruitless ef- 
forts end in this. I find no explanation, I only find 
that in this man of mystery I find a Savior from 
my sins. I find, in thinking of Him, I am melted 
into tears; I know not why, except that He is 
great and good and pure and everything that I 
am not, and I am everything that He is not. Sur- 
vive or perish, live or die, for time or eternity, I 
rest my hopes in Him. 

I know not what surprises there yet may be in 
store for earth. I know not when or where the 
future dove may find its olive branch. I know not 
when or where, or who shall be the shepherds that 
shall hear strange voices in the air. I know not 
when the dross of sin shall be cast off, and in the 
crucible of human life a holier religion shall appear, 
but it shall find a cradle somewhere, and, I think, 
before He comes. 

And I think it will be as of old. Not in the courts 
of Pharaoh, but in the dusty brick-yard. Not in 
the palace of a Herod, but in the humble dwelling 



jesus. 257 

of some unknown Capernaum; not in the grandeur 
of the purple, but shrouded in humility, perhaps 
in the robings of coarse fishing nets. But, as upon 
the hillsides of America the finger of eternal Des- 
tiny has written progress, there mostly I shall look 
for it. 



THE TEMPTATION. 

The life at Nazareth was ended. The saw and 
plane had given vigor to the body, the study of the 
prophets had given longings to His soul. The part- 
ed waters of the Jordan had made for Him a mo- 
mentary grave. A voice from heaven had ratified 
the consecration and given Him His commission. 
In startling tones His herald had proclaimed His 
coming. What more remained? Was He not ready 
for His work? No, a myriad of thoughts, like the 
rush of many waters, flooded His soul. He could 
not return to Nazareth. He must be alone with 
nature and with nature's God. He must have time 
and place to think. The wilderness would give Him 
these. He sought its solitudes. This was impulse. 
Perhaps He did not know that here He was "led 
up by the Spirit," but how else does the Spirit 
lead than by good impulses. 

Then began the mystery of mysteries, equaled 
only by the mystery of His entire life, the mystery 
of the temptation. Can God be tempted? The uni- 
versal answer to this question would be, No. Then 
was not Jesus God? Hear Him once say, "The 
Father and I are one." Hear Him again, "The 
Father is greater than I." And again, "No one 
knoweth that, only the Father." One thing is 
plain, God can not be tempted. This, too, is plain, 
Jesus was tempted. 

258 



THE TEMPTATION. 259 

With the water dripping from His shoulders as 
He emerged from Jordan did Jesus know He was 
the Christ? If so, how had that knowledge come 
to Him? Was it when He bent over the adze and 
drawing-knife? Had Mary told Him that dread 
secret that only she and Joseph knew and she had 
never dared reveal to heightened eyebrows, shoul- 
ders shrugged, or smiles of ridicule? Had He 
learned it from the rabbis, where He and other 
boys were classed together in the school? Im- 
possible ! For when with strange words and strange 
pretensions He reappeared in Nazareth the ques- 
tion was, Is not this the son of Joseph, are not His 
brothers and His sisters with us here? Had He ob- 
tained that knowledge from above? We have no 
record of it. Then what? We are forced to the 
conclusion that in Nazareth and in the Jordan 
He did not know Himself. But now tumultuous 
feelings gathered in His soul. It was as though the 
light were breaking in the distant sky. There were 
creepings of a dawn which argued strongly of a 
coming sun, but the sun had not yet risen. 

Before that sunrise there must be a test of Him 
on whom that sun should burst. He must abide the 
test, and He must conquer in it if He were the 
Christ, and that was the temptation of the wilder- 
ness, to which the Spirit led Him. It was grand; 
it was magnificent. 

There are three temptations named. Skillfully 
they were devised. Others, doubtless, the wilder- 
ness beheld, but only these are mentioned. 

In the sublimest uplifts of a human soul we can 



260 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

■understand forgetfulness of nature's claims, but 
somewhere these assert themselves, and to the weak- 
ness of a forty days of fast, what can be more al- 
luring to the famished than the hope of food? 

We speak of Jesus as the Man of Nazareth. If 
He were that and nothing more, the contest would 
have ended here. 

Strange that there should be a oneness with the 
tempter and the tempted, but I think there was. 
To one the sunburst had not come. He doubted. 
The other said, If thou be the Son of God. Uncer- 
tainty surrounded both. Both doubted. 

Why Satan thought Jesus was divine we are 
not told. Evidently he did, but was not certain of 
it. He wishes to find out, and thus come the fol- 
lowing temptations. 

The first temptation was for food. You and I 
who have never felt the pangs of hunger can not- 
understand them. From tales of shipwreck where 
sailors have cast lots to see who should become a 
food for others, we can imagine them. A week 
or so ago the papers said a band of starving Indians 
slew a squaw that the other Indians might live, 
and history tells us that in the siege of Jerusalem 
a woman killed her child and ate him. 

Such tales of horror picture to us plainly what 
must have been the pain that Jesus suffered and 
what must have been the crave for food. It was 
thus in weakness and in pain the tempter came to 
Him. 

Here is food plenty all around you — if you say so. 



THE TEMPTATION. 261 

Say but the word, and if you be the Son of God, 
these stones shall turn to bread. Say it. Why not? 

Well, why not? Why should He not have 
said it? 

1st. Reading His life thereafter we find He never 
did a miracle to help Himself. 

2nd. While in itself we see no wrong in His use 
of power, if He had it, He was waiting for His 
Father to work out for Him the problems that 
were agitating Him. Feeling the lappings of a 
tide from distant shores He waited for its flood. 

In the second temptation, the devil taketh 
him into the holy city and setteth him down on a 
pinnacle of the temple, and saith unto him, ''If thou 
be the Son of God, cast thyself down : for it is writ- 
ten, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee, 
and in their hands they shall bear thee up lest at 
any time thou dash thy foot against a stone." 

Was this a bodily removal from the wilderness or 
was it the conception of a strong imagination equal 
in vividness to reality? Whichever it was, it seems 
to have been real to the weak and hungry man. 

And what a strong temptation! Was He indeed 
the Messiah? Then what an opportunity to con- 
vince the world — casting himself from some lofty 
height upheld by angels or floating down to earth 
with the lightness of a feather! How convincing! 
What a world of time and effort that would save. 
But, no ; He would not. He would not presume. 
If He were the Messiah, time would tell. He would 
not boldly thrust Himself upon the promise of the 



262 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Father till the Father so directed. So Satan failed 
again. 

The third temptation is that which, stronger than 
any other, still appeals to man. The dazzling lust 
of power that made Alexander weep for other 
worlds to conquer; that sped the march of Genghis 
Khan and almost placed the crown of Europe on 
the Corsican. 

"All these I will give thee if thou wilt fall down 
and worship me." And that is just what men have 
always done. They worship wealth or fame, they 
bend the knee before the altar of ambition. But 
beyond all this, susceptible as man has always been, 
to love of power, how apt was this temptation to 
the Man of Nazareth just now? Was He struggling 
with the half belief that He was the long-expected 
One? Then what was that one to do? What 
should be His mission? Were not thrones to bow 
and nations yield and sceptres fall before Him? 
Surely this must be Messiah's work. The hated 
Roman must be driven out. The glory of Messiah's 
reign must far surpass the reign of Solomon. This 
was the teaching of the schools. Doubtless it had 
"been whispered in His ears by Mary. And every 
heart beat of His boyhood and every throb of grow- 
ing manhood had responded to that patriotic cry, 
as the proud legions of despotic power swept by 
upon the highway that skirted the foothills of His 
home. If to man in general such offered power is 
seductive, what must it have been to Him who was 
just then struggling with a whirl of hope, of duty 
and of possibility. We can not do justice to this 



THE TEMPTATION. 263 

temptation. We can not measure it. Neither ob- 
servation nor experience afford an aid. The 
prophets and the miracles — were they centering in 
Him? Was He the man? Hunger? What was 
that! Man might be strong enough to starve and 
die of hunger. Cast Himself down from some pin- 
nacle of height? What great man would not de- 
spise the thought of the spectacular, even though 
some good might come from it? 

This was the greatest of the three temptations. 
Curious to remember that what the devil offered, 
the Christ is fast acquiring. In the end, if not be- 
fore, the tempter was discovered, was sharply rep- 
rimanded and dismissed. God give us power to 
do the same when He approaches us! 

The mystery of the temptation is only one of the 
many mysteries of that strange life which began in 
Bethlehem and ended on the cross. We can not un- 
derstand it. A heathen poet being asked by Hiero, 
King of Syracuse, what is God, asked for two days 
to think of it. At the end of these he asked for 
four more. At the end thereof he asked for eight. 
And so each time he doubled. The King, surprised 
by such behavior, demanded what was meant by 
it. Simonidas replied, "The more I think of God 
the less I understand Him." But the puzzle of the 
life of Jesus, is a greater puzzle than the life of 
God. 

Yes, the man of Nazareth was God, but habited 
in flesh. With one hand holding still to heaven, 
the other clinging hard to earth. To bring sinful 
earth to heaven, it was needful He should know 



264 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

the burdens of the one to lift it to the purity and 
goodness of the other. This he undertook to do. 
To do this it was needful He should feel the pres- 
sure of temptation, and he felt it. 

It is hard to think that Jesus was tempted to do 
wrong. And it is hard to think of Him inclined to 
murder or to steal, but men are often so inclined, 
and if "in all points he was tempted as we are," if 
this be true, I think that there was no temptation 
you and I have ever known, or mankind at its 
worst has ever met that he escaped. Only, unlike 
us, He never yielded. 

A child in a western state tempted to wander 
far from the parental roof was suddenly struck 
blind. Filled with dismay, and wringing his hands 
in agony, he exclaimed, "Oh, dear, dear light; what 
shall I do without you?" Groping his way as best 
he could toward his home he got entangled among 
thorns. Suddenly the darkness disappeared, the 
light came back to him. With tearful eyes he cried, 
"Oh, light; oh, sun; I never knew how pretty and 
how good you were!" So, often we are tempted 
and sometimes we get tangled in the thorns of 
life and sadly bruised and scratched. The Sun of 
Righteousness still shines, but its beams remain 
unseen, our eyes are in eclipse. Suddenly the mag- 
ic hand of Him who openeth the eyes touches 
them. Lo, we see again. And like the child, with 
tears of love and gratitude, we cry, "Oh, lovely 
sun; oh, holy, heavenly light; how beautiful thou 
art." 



A THOUGHT ON CHRISTMAS. 

When, in adoration, our souls sink most before 
the Christ, we forget that He was man ; that really 
He was once a baby, helpless as any other babe, 
needing the same care as other infants; that after 
that He was a boy, climbing the hills of Nazareth, 
gathering wild flowers from the most prolific of 
all fields of flowers, and that greatest of all the 
world's battlefields, the plain of Esdraelon, which, 
like an inland sea, still sweeps the foothills of that 
village, whose name is written in the holiest of 
human thought; that for the family's need the 
neighbors often saw Him run to fill the pitcher at 
the spring, which is still the only water works of 
Nazareth; that later still, with adze and drawing- 
knife and plane He was a toiler in the shop, and in 
the absence of His reputed father, doubtless bar- 
gained the rude fashionings of their joint work- 
manship. In our exaltation of devotion, seeing Him 
as God, we lose the beauty of His life and rob it of 
its glory and its grandeur. 

It may be trite to say the life of Jesus is the 
great event of history, but yet it must be said. 
Among its many wonders is the wonder that He 
came a peasant, not a prince. And to establish a 
religion whose tenets were offensive to all human 
instincts, He deliberately chose an agency whose 

265 



266 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

speech was patois and whose purple was the coarse 
robings of a fisherman. 

"We speak of the Christian church as a church 
the Christ established, but He did not. He built 
no chapels. He had no fixed place of worship. 
He taught, but His schoolroom was a hillside or 
a crowded street. He preached, but His pulpit 
was a fishing boat, a corner of the temple, or a 
dwelling of the poor. Crowds flocked to hear Him, 
but they were not members of His church. He had 
no church. The only church existing was the Jew- 
ish church, and that was not a church in our mean- 
ing of the word. He preached repentance, bap- 
tism and faith, but He created no society, He wrote 
no creed, and but for His correspondence with Ag- 
barus, King of Acroene, we should not know that 
He could write at all. 

This Agbarus, as the story goes, wrote to Jesus, 
begging Him to come and heal him. Jesus reply- 
ing, said He could not go to him, but that after His 
decease, which very soon should be accomplished, 
one should be sent to him, and in fullfillment of this 
promise, after the resurrection, Thaddeus, sent by 
the apostles, healed the King, and preached the 
gospel to the people with success. 

The truth of this story has been doubted, but the 
doubters give no reason for their doubts. And 
upon the other hand, Eusebius, who wrote about 
300 A. D. says he found both letters in the archives 
of Edessa, the capital of Osroene, and translated 
them into the Syriac. 

We neither know the day nor the month on 



A THOUGHT ON CHRISTMAS. 267 

which the Christ was born. We are not quite sure 
even of the year, but we know it was not A. D. 1. 

It seems to have been the practice of the early 
church to celebrate the death of specially honored 
persons rather than their birth. Thus, the death 
of Stephen and the murder of the children in 
Bethlehem had been annually commemorated for 
at least three centuries before the festival of Christ- 
mas was established. This we trace back to the 
fourth century in the Greek church (though at 
some unremembered date), while in the fifth cen- 
tury it was commanded in the Western church and 
on the twenty-fifth day of December, the tradition- 
al birthday of Sol. 

Strange that the birthday of the Christ should 
be hidden from us. Strange, too, that none of the 
Evangelists who wrote of Him gave us the 
slightest description of His personal appearance. 



CHRISTMAS AS AN ANNIVERSARY. 

Have you ever thought why it is that so important 
an event as the birth of Jesus has been permitted 
or contrived to drop entirely out of memory? And 
why it is the world has now no image of Him either 
on canvas or in stone ? Do you think this is an acci- 
dent? But what matter for the date? The im- 
portant thing is not when He came, but that He 
came. 

And why ? To build again the walls of Eden, torn 
down by disobedience. To lift the soul, buried in 
sorrow and in sin. To place a torch within the 
tomb, and scatter flowers where before was only 
desolation and death. 

The serpent had beguiled the woman; her seed 
must bruise the serpent's head. Moses foresaw a 
prophet like unto himself; the manger answered to 
the floating cradle, and the Lamb of God replaced 
the Paschal Lamb of history. From dark Egypt 
Moses led his people to the open; from a greater 
darkness Jesus leads His people to a broader life. 
Moses gave a law we could not keep. Jesus came 
to keep it for us. Moses wrote his law on stone, 
which might be broken but not bent; Jesus writes 
His law upon the human heart, which though yield- 
ing often when it should not, still turns toward Him 
as the needle, sometimes influenced by magnetic 

268 



CHRISTMAS AS AN ANNIVERSARY. 269 

rocks, yet in the main points steadily toward its 
polar star. Moses painted for the world a God of 
wrath; Jesus, taking up the brush, retouched the 
portrait, disclosed a Father in the God, and changed 
the wrath to love. To Gentile and to Jew religion 
was a puzzle; Jesus came, a child, made clear the 
wonder, and resolved the puzzle. Moses pressed 
with crushing weight upon the sinner; Jesus came 
to lift the burden for him. Moses said, "The soul 
that sinneth, it shall die;" Jesus said, "The soul 
that cometh unto me shall live." To the faint and 
falling Moses almost closed the door of hope ; Jesus 
came and threw the door wide open. The "shalls" 
of Moses and "shall nots" frighten and repel; the 
invitations of the Christ allure, attract and woo. 
For ages God, the terrible, had been unseen; Jesus 
drew the curtain back, and lo! the Great, the Infi- 
nite, the Terrible, was Love. Jesus with the sick, 
Jesus at the grave, Jesus teaching a poor woman at 
the well — how beautiful ! Even though, as God, He 
is forgotten, His divinity denied, who can help lov- 
ing Him, and how much more the sinner than the 
saint ! This, then, is my Christmas letter. 



CHRISTMAS. 

We talk lightly and often foolishly about Christ- 
mas and Christmas gifts, but "God so loved the 
world that he gave his only begotten Son, that 
whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but 
have everlasting life." 

What a gift, the gift of the Christ— "Wounded 
for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities, 
by his stripes we are healed!" 

The world had seen great conquerors before 
whose prowess nations, like trees before a storm, 
had bent, but when the storm had passed, the 
nations like the trees, resumed their first conditions. 
But who of those who dreamed of Him, or wise 
men who then worshipped Him, foresaw a conqueror 
whose conquest should endure time without end? 

While Rome was sending out her consuls to over- 
awe the world, how little Caesar thought that in 
an obscure village of Judea a Child was born who 
should tear down his monuments and overthrow 
his altars, and on their ruins uplift temples to 
Jehovah? How little thought the great Augustus 
that his unequaled legions that had crushed the 
Gauls and subdued the fiercer Britons should some 
day learn to kneel before the Babe of Bethlehem! 



270 



MERRY CHRISTMAS. 

"He was despised and rejected of men, and we 
esteemed him not." Oh, I cannot say Merry- 
Christmas — with that sad life before me, without 
one ray of earthly light. With Gethsemane before 
me and the horrors of the cross, I cannot say Merry 
Christmas. I feel rather with the savage, who, 
springing to his feet when told about the cruci- 
fixion, exclaimed, "What! Did they do that? If 
I had been there with my braves, they never should 
have done it." 

I feel as if I should have said, if to me had 
been the power to decide, Let the world perish if 
it must; this shall not be. I should have remon- 
strated with the Deity if I could. I should have 
pled for some other way of saving man. 

They tell us sin so far removes mankind from 
God, it took all this to bridge the chasm. This 
teaches me that while I do not understand the 
sacrifice, neither do I understand the deep enor- 
mity of sin. I end in wonder; my soul in tears 
upon its knees because I do not love; because I do 
not hate; because I do not love the Father and the 
Son; because I do not hate the sins that cost the 
garden and the cross. "God so loved the world." 
I do not understand the "so." It reaches to 
height — not beyond my comprehension only, but 



271 



272 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

beyond my power to imagine. In all of this there 
is no merriment to me. Let those who can, take 
other views of it. Let those who can say Merry 
Christmas. I cannot. 



JESUS RISEN. 

Matt. 28:1-15. Compare Mark 16, Luke 24 and 
Matt. 27:57-66. 

Paul says, "If Christ be not raised, then is our 
preaching vain, then are ye yet in your sins. ,, If 
that be true, then it is important for us to know 
that Jesus rose. Are there any proofs of it? Are 
those proofs sufficient to satisfy the candid mind? 
I answer, Yes. There are more proofs of Jesus' life 
and death than of the life and death of any other 
man. There are more proofs of His resurrection 
than of any other fact in human history. 

But, back of that, suppose He had not lived or 
died; there is a sermon still in every seed that 
hastens to decay; in every crawling insect that 
wraps itself in sleep and rouses from its couch of 
death to flutter in the sunlight. In all around us 
Nature teaches death, but out of it a resurrection. 
So had not Jesus risen, immortality was still a fond 
familiar science to the thoughtful. Jesus only 
made it plainer, surer, simpler, lovelier, grander, 
holier. 

If Jesus had been interred where other bodies 
were, His body might not have been missed; or, 
if missed, it might be said it was some other body 
that was absent, not His. But He was laid in a 
tomb where never before man was buried, and He 
was there alone. 

273 



274 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

The seal of Rome was placed upon the doorway^ 
of the sepuleher. Who dare break the seal of 
Rome? 

Roman soldiers were there to guard the tomb. 
Roman soldiers never slept on duty. It was a 
stupid falsehood the chief priests invented — that 
while they slept friends of the Crucified carried 
Him away. How could they know what happened 
when they were asleep? 

Verse 1. 

In the end of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn 
toward the first day of the week. 

The Sabbath closed with sundown on Saturday. 
Too late then for them to be abroad, those holy 
women waited until the breaking of the light in 
the eastern sky. And then, those named by Mat- 
thew, and two others named by Luke, — just as 
soon as it was prudent — ventured forth. 

What for? Did they expect a risen Christ? 
No, no; they had no hope of that. It was an in- 
tensity of love. Prompted by that and that only, 
they sought the sepuleher, with arms filled with 
spices to embalm the body that they loved so well. 

On the way thereto, it suddenly struck one of 
them what all of them had forgotten — the stone. 
Who will roll back the stone? Surely an important 
thought, for how could they get to the sacred body 
if the stone were in their way? And yet, they 
did not turn back for help. Why not ? We do 
not know. 



JESUS RISEN. 275 

Proceeding on to the sepulcher, as they reached 
it, Mary Magdalene saw at a glance that the stone 
had been rolled back. Alas, why? Who had done 
that? And what then may have become of the 
sacred body? 

Terror stricken, without waiting to see the cause 
or the result, she instantly started back to tell 
her friends Peter and John. Could they help her 
in her disquiet ? She did not know ; she did not 
stop to think. She only felt the need of sym- 
pathy, of counsel and advice and turned to men, 
as women always do in trouble. 

If Peter and John loved less than she, they 
were probably not less interested in a robbery 
of the tomb. Instantly they started. One outran 
the other. Entering the tomb they were amazed 
to find it empty. 

Had some one stolen the body? a body guarded 
by a platoon of Roman soldiers? Surely this was 
not a theft. Thieves must work hurriedly, and all 
the more with sentinels around. But here was a 
napkin carefully folded and here were grave 
clothes all laid aside in order. Peter was puzzled. 

Mary had not arrived as soon as they, but when 
she came and saw the empty tomb, she also saw 
the gardener, at least she thought it was the 
gardener. Seeing that she was crying, ten- 
derly he asked her, "Why weepest thou?" She 
said, "Because they have taken away my Lord, 
and I know not where they have laid him. ,, 

To this there was an answer in a single word, 
but in a voice that thrilled her heartstrings. It 



276 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

was a voice more full of melody than earth has 
ever heard or heaven can surpass. That single 
word was Mary ! 

Mary stood spellbound. In Magdala and else- 
where always she had been called Mary, but no- 
body had ever said Mary just as He had always 
said it. The tone, the voice, went home to her. 
But He was dead! She looked — she thought — she 
recognized her Lord. 

Perhaps to teach that in heaven the relation- 
ships of earth are not continued, it was not to His 
mother Jesus first appeared. Perhaps to show that 
though He had selected them, He did not care 
more for them than others, it was not to one of 
His disciples that He first declared Himself. The 
first to see, the first to recognize, the first to hear 
Him speak after He had burst the bonds of death, 
— that high honor was reserved for Mary Magda- 
lene. And it was hers alone, shared by no one, 
witnessed only by the angels. Verily, if any Mary 
should be deified, why not the Mary thus so signally 
distinguished? 

"Fear not, for I know that ye seek Jesus which 
was crucified." This was the advice of the angel. 
Those who seek Him have no cause for fear, and 
those who seek Him find Him, whether He be in 
the garden or elsewhere. 

You would like to know how an angel looks? 
Here is a portrait of one. "His countenance was 
like lightning" — the Kevised Version has it "as" 
lightning — "and his raiment white as snow." The 
two seen by Peter and John, "one at the head, 



JESUS RISEN". 277 

and the other at the foot" looked the same. So, 
also, on the Mount of Transfiguration. Where they 
came from fashions seem to have no change. 

"And go quickly and tell his disciples that he 
is risen from the dead." 

The greatest message that ever fell from the 
lips of angels was given to women, and they were 
the first missionaries, the first instructors, the 
first messengers to the disciples and the world, the 
first to tell that He had risen. 

With what body did He rise? A fact never 
to be lost sight of — He rose with the body that 
was torn and broken on the cross. 

"Come hither, Thomas. Put your fingers into 
the nail holes. Thrust your hand into the spear 
mark in my side and be not faithless, but believ- 
ing." And Thomas, who had said that he could 
never believe until he had done all these things, 
Thomas, overcome, believing now, fell prostrate 
before Him, exclaiming, "My Lord and my God." 
Unbelieving Thomas was the first to call Him God. 

Oh, yes; the same, same body that was so cruel- 
ly abused. "Children, have you any meat?" And 
He sat down and ate with them. It was after 
that that the glorified body appeared. It may not 
be safe to speak positively, but probably at the 
ascension. That glorified body — Christian, shall 
you wear it? Why not? "He who believeth on 
the Son hath — 'hath,' not shall have, 'hath' — now 
— eternal life." 

Our Lord appeared to His disciples ten or eleven 
times — to His disciples and those who loved Him. 



278 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

He did not appear at all to Pilate or the chief 
priests. He does not now appear to those who do 
not care for Him. 

Did Jesus rise ? The disciples said He did, and all 
but one gave up their lives for saying it. 

Did Jesus rise? The flames of fire and the gift 
of tongues at Pentecost, and the three thousand 
that day converted there, — all said so. 

Did Jesus rise? The whole world said so when 
it changed its dates. Not because He had been 
born, not because of His wonderful life and teach- 
ings, not yet because of His cruel death. These 
might have happened a thousand times and been 
forgotten. It was because of that stupendous fact 
and its greatness and magnificence, the resurrec- 
tion; it was for that the world agreed to change 
its dates. And now each Jew and infidel attests 
that fact in every letter that he writes, in every 
check or note; he dates not 2657, but A. D. 1904. 
"Children, have ye any bread?" "Jesus is the 
bread of life." 

When time shall roll up as a scroll, and in 
the watches of eternity, earth's shadows on the 
universe of God's sublimity shall disappear; when 
in the eons of an unmeasured future, earth has to 
make her final reckoning, her greatest glory and 
her greatest boast shall be, that on her bosom 
there was found a Babe; that in the Jordan and 
the wilderness that Babe became the Christ, and 
in the crucifixion and the resurrection,, that 
Christ revealed Himself as God. Can any other 
world — can heaven itself boast more? 



"IT IS FINISHED." 

What was it that was finished? Was it the risk 
of human life, the hazards of humanity? human- 
ity with all its faults, its weaknesses, its passions? 
What angel, what archangel, dare encounter them? 
If He came, it must be as man He came. He must, 
as any other man, be born of woman, inheriting 
all of man's and woman's frailties. It could not 
be as God. The wisdom and the power of God — 
these must be left behind. As one leaps into the 
sea, it must be a plunge into the ocean of human- 
ity, with all the dangers of the ocean, to sink or 
swim, perhaps to drown. This must be true, or 
the theory ol Redemption, the whole fabric of the 
Christian system fails. He may be watched over, 
He may be helped from above as all men are 
helped from above, but — could He ask for more? 
What merit could God have, what merit could God 
claim, whether on earth or elsewhere, whether in 
the form of man or any other form, so long as 
He remained God; knowing Himself to be God, 
what merit could He claim for purity, for being 
free from sin? Being God, how could He be 
otherwise? 

No, to become the Redeemer of others, must He 
not only be free from sin Himself but liable to 
sin? Must it not be possible that He could sin? 
Surely He must be subject to all temptations, He 

279 



280 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

must be open to all temptations and yet He must 
not fall. He must be Man, yet have no more 
claim on heaven's help and heaven's protection 
than any other man. He must meet the tempta- 
tions common to all other men, and doubtless He 
did meet more than most men meet, for all men 
do not meet all temptations, and He escaped none. 
Doubtless temptations 'of a lesser sort followed 
Him through life which are not mentioned. But 
men writing of great wars seldom speak of skir- 
mishes. He had the passions of humanity, He had 
the overcoming of a God. It was not humility; 
it was not a fiction; it was not a fancy name, 
invented when He called Himself the Son of man. 

Now there was the risk. Dare He take it ? There 
had been one pure man on earth. He had been 
tempted and he fell. With centuries of practice, 
was the serpent less a match for man than form- 
erly? Had man learned foils and strategies be- 
fore unknown to him? Was he encased in stronger 
armor now than when he yielded in the garden? 

Between heaven and earth — apart from sin — 
there must be some resemblance. And if this 
were the only world concerned in this stupendous 
movement, it is inconceivable that in the courts 
of Heaven no commotion was produced? No dis- 
cussion in the heavenly host — no remonstrances 
from angels, no admonitions from a loving 
Father? 

But if the risk were great, was not the prize 
magnificent? Not alone Judea. Not the world 
that was, but the world that was to be. The 



"IT is finished/' 281 

myriads of Asia, the unnumbered ones of Europe, 
the teeming trillions of the yet unborn looming 
in the distant ages. What a chorus in the great 
hereafter to sing praise and glory to the Lamb! 

But there was a greater motive. Pity, pity. 
Man's pity mingles with his selfishness. We can 
not understand the pity of a God. The world was 
drenched in tears. The voiceless grave was an 
unyielding cavern. Humanity was hopeless. Then 
there was the love of God. We know something of 
love, but can we understand the unmeasured love 
of God? 

Here then, love and pity, blending with confi- 
dence and courage, the second person in the Trin- 
ity, braving the consequence took the risk. And, 
enfolded in the womb of a peasant girl as in a 
tomb, and for a period of gestation governed by 
human law, the second person in the mysterious 
Trinity we call the Godhead, was born a human 
child; but yet a child who should dry the tears 
of sorrow, give plenty to poverty, give knowledge 
to ignorance and confidence to doubt, give hope to 
despair, and at whose touch idolatries should 
crumble. 

But this could not come all at once. Though 
heralded by angels. His infant lips were still 
unused to speech. The limitations of the earthly 
life not only governed Him, but clung to Him as 
step by step He rose in poverty and toil to man- 
hood, till the divinity within, struggling still more 
and more impelled Him to the Jordan. Here the 
fogs were lifting. 



THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

As when neither sun nor star is visible the marin- 
er is at a loss to find his bearings, so must the 
child of wonder have been groping in the dark. 
Marked by one exception when, catching a mo- 
ment's inspiration, the light broke out, in the elo- 
quence of silence from infancy to manhood, His life 
was spent. Thoughts doubtless found their way 
into his soul, as snatches of a faded dream we 
can not piece together haunt us in our waking 
hours. Perhaps these gained in vividness as time 
wore on until a cry was heard, when saw and 
plane were dropped forever. Much as a traveler on 
an unknown road in darkness turns toward a 
light which, feeble, yet grows brighter as he nears 
it — was it not thus the Man of Galilee pursued 
His way from the Jordan to the cross? Is not 
gradual progression a universal law of earth, and 
was the Son of man an exception to that law? 

We would not venture with imprudent words on 
ground so sacred; but casting off our sandals, was 
it not as He merged from Jordan with those sacred 
waters dripping from Him that He began to know 
Himself? Was it not till then His earth life had 
obscured His origin? Even now, with the voice 
from Heaven — though the words were plain — 
could He yet grasp their fullness? He knew that 
there was some one coming. Not alone Judea, the 
world expected Him. Could it indeed be He? 
Was it indeed He who was to come? The wilder- 
ness afforded time and place for meditation, and 
He sought it. 

What happened there the Scriptures tell. That 



"it is finished/' 283 

wilderness beheld a war, compared with which all 
other wars of earth fall into insignificance. A 
war, in which the destiny of man to the remotest 
hour of time was fatefully involved. Here the 
man was pitted against one who possibly had 
never known defeat. Not in the beginning, not 
on His entrance of the solitudes was the battle 
fought. His crafty enemy, whom He did not know 
He was to meet, waited till the man was worn 
by hunger and fatigue. Then came the attack. 
But while the man was weakening, the divinity 
within was gaining strength. The contest ended 
with — for the first time perhaps in earths history 
— a son of man triumphant. 

I shall not follow Him thereafter through 
scenes so well and widely known, where, from pass- 
ing moisture through unseen vineyards He turned 
water into wine. Gaining confidence, He ventured 
to command the winds and waves; to raise the 
dead and assuming the prerogatives of the great 
Eternal, locking the gates of hell and opening 
wide the doors of heaven He said, "Thy sins are 
forgiven thee/' 

As man He taught, as man He ate and slept, 
as man He was baptized, as man He kept the 
passover, as man He wept, as man He prayed, 
as man He suffered, as man He sank beneath the 
cross; while all the time the God within was grow- 
ing, growing, always growing; while always still 
we see the man. And might it not be said that 
while He was both God and man He was grandest 
as a man? Often He spoke in parables, often 



284 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

He was obscure. But where least we understand 
Him — is it not there He spoke the plainest? "I am 
the way, I am the truth, I am the life." 

I am not writing a life of Christ, only a few 
thoughts of Him. I see Him as a man — as I think 
He wished that we should see Him. Any other 
view robs Him of His glory. As an infant, does 
He know more than other infants? As a carpenter, 
are we told He is more skillful in His trade than 
others? And in the absence of the father that 
He thought was His, I think I see Him in a quiet 
but a business way dealing with peasant buyers 
for the rough household goods He and His reputed 
father made and were glad to sell. I think I 
see Him as a boy, industrious in the shop, studious 
in the school, well spoken of by neighbors, and 
loved by all who knew Him well. And yet I 
think I see Him sometimes swelling with big 
thoughts, questioning the stars at midnight, and 
the flowers that grew profusely round His home. 
These views neither weaken my admiration nor 
lessen my adoration. But they bring Him nearer 
to me and make it easier and more possible for 
me to see Him as my Savior. It pleased the 
Father to send Him a peasant — not a prince — to 
convert the world. 

I shall not speak of His crucifixion. If I tried 
to, I should most miserably fail. I do not think 
of it as others do. I can not think of it without 
both horror and hot indignation. I know the 
theory — it had to be in order that a lost world 
might be saved. But if I had been there and I 



"it is finished/' 285 

could have prevented it, I would have, world lost 
or world not lost. So, I am incompetent to write 
upon the subject. 

But I see a helpless man before some hordes of 
ruffians, with a city full of people who wasted not 
a tear upon His sufferings nor raised an arm in His 
defense. My finite mind accepts the theory, but 
still with wonder if there was not gross restraint 
in Heaven — for angels did not strew Jerusalem 
with terror. 

Last words are ever treasured. The sweep of 
those last words, the first and last time they were 
uttered — we choke. Our breath comes quick as 
echoes through the centuries with their resistless 
eloquence and meaning bring them now to us. 
With them, all suffering, all agony was ended. 
The prize was won, the achievement was complete. 

Can you imagine with what intense delight — 
all being over, the battle fought, the conquest 
gained, those words escaping His parched lips — 
the Son of God, the Son of man exclaimed in tri- 
umph, "It is Finished !" 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 



THE ANNOUNCEMENT. 

They were shepherds, only shepherds, but "the 
glory of the Lord shone round about them. ,, Then 
an angel came and with a message from the skies. 

What was the message? "Unto you is born this 
day a Savior, and this shall be the sign to you, 
ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling 
clothes lying in a manger/ ' 

What a message ! And all the way from heaven. 
And what mysteries of power lay within those 
swaddling clothes! What potentialities to man, to 
earth, to heaven! 

And troops of angels followed singing, "Glory to 
God in the highest." What for? The promises ful- 
filled. The dark turned into light. What prom- 
ises? 

"The seed of the woman shall bruise the ser- 
pent's head." Great promises, but so broad. Eve, 
the mother of all mankind — where shall we look 
for the coming one? Noah hears the whisperings 
of the Spirit and voicing them exclaims, "Japheth 
shall be enlarged, and he shall dwell in the tents 
of Shem. ,, 

Again the Spirit speaks to Abraham, beckoned 
out of Chaldea and idolatry, "In thy seed shall 
all the nations of the earth be blessed.' ' 

Again, — "The sceptre shall not depart from 
286 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 287 

Judah until Shiloh come." Then Judah, the father 
of half a dozen nomads, must sometime hold a 
sceptre. Amazing ! Can it be ? Till now we know 
not if the Shiloh be a woman or a man. But now, 
again the Spirit speaks. The Shiloh is to be a 
" Son of David." 

Still more mysterious. Isaiah, peering into the 
future announces a strange fact — "born of a vir- 
gin." How can that be? And Malachi, the last 
of the prophets, fixes His birthplace in historic 
Bethlehem. How the chain closed link by link! 
and how it lengthens! 

And here He lies — an infant in swaddling clothes 
and in a manger. Turn on the lime light. Throw 
up the wondrous picture on the canvas. See the 
dissolving views of centuries of prophecy from 
Eden to Bethlehem. See! Then join with the 
angels singing, "Glory to God in the highest. On 
earth peace, good will to men." 

Napoleon at St. Helena said "Alexander, Charle- 
magne and I founded empires — by the sword. They 
rose, they fell, they perished. Jesus founded an 
empire in the hearts of the people that has en- 
dured seventeen hundred years and today millions 
would die for Him." 

Rousseau, the noted infidel, taking up the New 
Testament to see what was in it, reading of the 
crucifixion, laid the book down, saying, "Socrates 
spoke kindly to the slave who brought the poison, 
but Jesus prayed for His enemies. Socrates died 
like a stoic, but Jesus died like a God. If this be 
true, He must have been a God." 



888 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 



THE SYMBOL EXPLAINED. 

Matt. 26:17-30. "First day of the feast of un- 
leavened bread/ ' This was one of the three 
feasts which all Israelitish men were required to 
attend. It began on the 15th day of the month 
Nisan, otherwise called Abib, the first month of the 
sacred year, and seventh month of the civil year, 
and was in memorial of the fearful night in 
Egypt when the death angel struck down the first- 
born in every Egyptian household, but passed over 
the Israelitish houses when the blood was sprinkled 
on the doorpost. In the many recurrences of that 
celebration thinking men doubtless often wondered 
why God had chosen such a ceremony. The answer 
to that question is seen in Calvary. 

"Where wilt thou that we prepare for thee to 
eat the passover? Note the form of the question. 
It is not "wilt" thou eat the passover, but 
"where" wilt thou eat it. 

The veil of the temple was not yet rent. The 
disciples did not yet know the new was to re- 
place the old, that those old ceremonies were to 
be abolished, and Jesus chose still to be the Jew. 

"Go into the city to such a man." According 
to Luke, Peter and John were to follow a man 
bearing a pitcher of water and make the request 
of him. 

"My time is at hand." These words were doubt- 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 289 

less understood differently by the man, the disciples 
and the Master. 

"And they made ready the passover." To do 
this no time was to be lost. They must buy the 
lamb and have it killed by a priest; they must 
purchase unleavened bread and bitter herbs, and 
some fruits which in the lapse of time had come 
to be added. They must see that the room was 
free from leaven, that the room was swept, the 
lamb roasted, the table arranged and the supper 
ready by sundown. 

"Verily, I say unto you that one of you shall 
betray me." It is difficult to imagine why our 
Lord said this, unless it was in the hope that the 
discovery of his purpose might so work upon the 
traitor's conscience as to lead him to abandon his 
wicked purpose. 

"Lord, is it I?" This answer is noticeable. Not 
one of them said it is "not" I. Why not? Plain- 
ly they had not confidence in themselves. The 
lofty ideals of the Master had never been imbibed 
by them. They were of earth, earthy. Even at 
this supper as we learn from another of the writers, 
they were disputing about the precedence in the 
kingdom they supposed He would establish. 
Even up to now, with Calvary next door, the 
spiritual kingdom He was to create they had not 
the most distant conception of. He was so slow. 
When He did act there might be disappointments. 
If betrayal meant joining the opposition, no man 
felt sure of himself, and they deserve praise for 
the candor of their reply. They understood them- 



290 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

selves better than they are understood by us. With- 
in a few hours they had deserted Him. 

"Woe unto the man by whom the Son of man is 
betrayed!'' This is not a curse or malediction. 
It is the outburst of a heart of pity. To think 
that one who had been so highly favored, who had 
for three years been a companion of the Christ 
could fall so low. Poor human nature, how weak 
thou art! 

"Take, eat, this is my body. The largest body 
of Christians in the world take this literally. But 
the disciples could not have done so, for His un- 
shorn and unsevered body sat by them. That same 
body of Christians do not take Him literally 
when He says, "I am the door, I am the way, 
I am the vine." "I will not drink henceforth of 
this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink 
it new with you in my Father's Kingdom." 

What a mystery is here, and what a promise! 
Must there not be something in the great beyond 
that answers to the social supper we are familiar 
with? 

"And when they had sung an hymn they went 
out unto the Mount of Olives." Thus, the paschal 
lamb which for centuries had been a symbol was 
once more eaten. On tomorrow the symbol was 
to be explained, the mystery of ages to be cleared 
up. Heaven should put on mourning; earth 
should dress herself in holiday attire. The promise 
of the prophets was to be fulfilled. Earth was to 
have a Savior; sinful man a means to find his- 
God. 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 291 



SMITE AMALEK. 

" Smite Amalek. Utterly destroy all that they 
have and spare them not; but slay both man and 
woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel 
and ass." — 1 Sam. 15:3. 

It is useless to dodge the question. This seems 
to be a cruel order, and utterly inconsistent with 
the character of God. 

A common answer is, God is sovereign, He gave 
life and has the right to take away that which He 
gave. Yes, God is sovereign; but does it follow 
that because He gave it He has the right to take 
away a nation's life? I think not. 

They say, has not the potter power over the 
vessel that he made? Yes, so long as it remains 
insensate clay. But suppose the potter has en- 
dowed that vessel with thought, with intellect, with 
hope, with aspiration, with ties of love that fasten 
it to things around it, I deny the potter's right 
to break the vessel. I deny the captain's right 
to cut the cable and set the bark adrift, captain 
and owner though he be, if there be one passenger 
aboard. I deny the potter's right to break the 
vessel he has made if thus he has endowed it, if 
the vessel has done nothing to deserve it. 

I gave to you a barren spot of ground. It had 
neither foliage nor fruit, nor blade of grass, nor 



292 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

clover leaf, nor soil. It would produce nothing. 
You ground the barren rock, you toiled, you plant- 
ed, and now there is a garden filled with fruits 
and flowers. Have I now the right to take it from 
you simply because I gave it to you? 

God gave you life. What was that life then 
worth to you? What could you do with it? 
Nothing, absolutely nothing. But you toiled with 
school books and with other- things, and, like the 
barren ground, your mind is now a garden where 
the fruits and flowers of thought and reason bloom 
and ripen, and the perfumes of art and knowledge 
fill your life with beauty. Has God the right to 
take from you the life He gave, which from noth- 
ing you have made so rich and full, simply because 
He gave it to you? I think not. 

But suppose He gave it to you upon condi- 
tions — conditions which you have not kept? Ah, 
that is quite another thing. 

Suppose that when He gave that plot of ground 
He said you must not harm your neighbors. But 
you are throwing weeds and thistles into your 
neighbors' gardens and destroying them, and 
you will not quit it, and the only way to stop 
it is to take the garden from you, is it not right that 
He should do it? 

Now suppose the Amalekites have for centuries 
been sowing thistles of idolatry in Israel, whom 
God is training to be the teachers of the outside 
world. And now, with the fate of distant ages in 
the balance, Amalekites, like all others, being free 
to act as they please — God sees that the only way 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 293 

to carry knowledge of Himself to unborn nations 
is to destroy these thistle sowers — what then? 
And as every gardener knows that to destroy a 
noxious weed it is not enough to simply cut away 
its top, but he must follow up the root and dig 
it out to the last and furtherest joint or it will 
spring up again — so when that weed is Amalek, 
God, like the gardener, to make the work effect- 
ual, directs that Amalek be utterly destroyed. 
That may be hardship to Amalek, but is it cruelty? 
You do the same thing every day, and think it 
right. Not in heartless cruelty, but to avoid in- 
fection of a neighborhood you drag the woman 
seized with smallpox from her home to place her 
in a pest house. It may be a hardship to the 
woman and the family, but is it cruelty? So with 
the man who gluts his knife with blood. So with 
the man now in jail in Cincinnati, the strangler 
of three wives. It may be a hardship to be 
hanged, but if that is the only way to stop the 
strangling of women, is it cruelty? 

You stand upon a mountain top and in the view 
take in the range of forest, vale and lake. So, 
God, in His majestic power, must have always 
had humanity in view from its beginning to its 
close. And as always you would sacrifice a finger 
or an arm to save your life, so God, I think, 
has always done, looking to the welfare of mankind 
as a whole. 

Thus the reasons for God's action here are ex- 
plained, and what upon the surface seems a cruel- 
ty, turns out to be no cruelty at all, only a nee- 



"294 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

essity — indeed, a mercy. But we can not always 
trace the plans of Providence so easily. Would 
it not be a wonder if we could? 

You think it strange that God should take that 
workman in his prime and leave a widow and 
five children destitute? I think so, too. Perhaps 
one reason was to give you an opportunity to ex- 
ercise your charity. You wondered why God took 
that child of yours, so beautiful, so full of prom- 
ise? I have wondered that way, too. 

One day two parents stood beside a rose bush, 
the proud possessor of two bursting buds. She 
said, "We will cut these buds and bloom them 
in a vase." He said, "Oh, no; but let them stay. 
They will bloom better on the bush. ,, "Nay, nay," 
the other said, "Then I will cut but one and let 
the other stay. Then shall we see which one will 
do the better." 

The bud was cut, and in its new home it bloomed 
with every tint and hue of beauty. Then they, 
went to see the other. A worm had eaten into 
it and killed it. By the withered bud they stood, 
surprised, until she said, "Is not this the teach- 
ing of our Father? Is it not this? — Before the 
corroding cares of life, before the earthworm sin 
had pierced his heart our Father took our boy 
to bloom in heaven's vase?" Though in sorrow 
still, in silence the other hung his head. Stand- 
ing by that rose bush he learned a lesson philoso- 
phy had never taught him — the object lesson of 
the earthworm and the vase. 



SCRAPS PROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 295 



SAMUEL'S SEARCH FOR A KING. 

1 Sam. 16:1-13. "How can I go?" Samuel 's 
fear surprises. But why should it ? Is not the 
human heart full of contradictions? Do we not 
sometimes love where we should not love, and fear 
where we should not fear? When is the heart of 
man fully given up to God? Have not the best 
of men their times of fear and doubt? See the 
Christ Himself! Listen to Him as He cries. "If 
it be possible !" Was it not in fear He shrank 
from the terrible ordeal? Hear Him again upon 
the cross. Was it not in doubt He exclaimed," Why 
hast thou forsaken me?" When you and I have 
ceased to fear and doubt, then may we be sur- 
prised by Samuel's timidity. But we always ex- 
pect more from others than from ourselves. 

"If Saul hears it he will kill me." Well, there 
was danger of that, if God did not protect him; 
and at this moment his faith was weak. Is not 
yours a little so sometimes? 

"Take a heifer with thee and say I am come to 
sacrifice to the Lord." That does not seem to be 
the real object, but was it a deception? No. Was 
it a subterfuge? Hardly. What, then was it? 
First, it was religious duty. Nowadays, instead 
of sacrifice, Samuel would probably have held a 



296 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

prayer meeting. But, second, it was prudence. 
Hide the young Moses if you can and so long 
as you can. Maybe Pharaoh will relent and the 
storm will blow over. If you have to, set him 
afloat upon the Nile and trust in God. But you 
need not tell the officers that you are hiding him. 
Keep the young Babe of Bethlehem in Bethlehem 
so long as it is safe. You need not tell Herod 
He is there. Eetain the man of Nazareth in 
Nazareth until the Jordan calls Him to a higher 
sphere. And let the shepherd boy remain a shep- 
herd boy until the clarion voice of destiny be- 
stows on him a crown. The voice of destiny is 
but the voice of God. But you need not tell the 
world the carpenter will be the Christ, or that 
the shepherd boy will be the king. The doctor 
does not tell the woman that spot upon her breast 
is cancer. He does not needlessly embitter pa- 
tients' lives and maybe shorten them by telling 
things they will find out in time. You do not 
tell the man how mean he is, but you rather 
praise him for the good he does or means to do. 
You tell the half, you do not tell the whole. So, 
Samuel, driving on the heifer into Bethlehem says, 
"I come to sacrifice.' ' He does not tell the whole, 
he tells the half. This is not deception, it is 
wisdom. 

"Call Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will show thee 
what thou shalt do." The trouble with us is we 
want to first find out what God will do before 
we call Jesse. We are too apt to say, if I do this, 
what then? While God, still patient with us, kind- 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 297 

ly says, "My child, do what I say, for what comes 
after trust." I know a man who had always 
worked seven days in the week, and with that had 
hard work to make buckle and tongue meet. Now, 
when he was converted he said, "Lord, how am I 
to support my family if I have to give up Sun- 
day? He could not see how; but, trusting he gave 
it up, and after that he prospered. Commonly we 
are not content to call Jesse and then wait. We 
can not say with him, who, on the deck of the 
Mediterranean ship, struggling with doubt, with 
neither star above or light within the soul, 

"Keep thou my feet, I do not ask to see 
The distant scene; one step enough for me." 

"Man looketh at the outward appearance, but 
God looketh at the heart." Spurgeon once said, 
"the best man on earth has enough tinder in his 
heart to set the fires of hell ablaze." 

It may be that some of these days some of 
you shall ask some angel guide, "Who is that dark 
figure over there?" and he shall answer, "Why, 
you ought to know him. For years he taught a 
Bible class in your Sunday school." And you shall 
then say, "Yes, yes; I recognize him now, but down 
there we thought he was a saint." "I know you 
did," is the reply, "but God looketh not at out- 
ward appearances; He looketh at the heart." "And 
who is that bent figure there that scintillates with 
heaven's light?" "Why, she was a member of 
his Bible class." Quiet and silent she was not dis- 
tinguished there. Probably he taught her unim- 



298 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

portant things she did not know, but any time 
she could have taught him more about the Holy 
Spirit in the soul than he had ever known. 

Possibly their positions here may be reversed. 
She may be the teacher and he m-ay learn of her. 
Down in your Sunday school you looked at the 
outward appearances, but God looketh at the heart. 
The gift of power did not make a Pilate noble; 
the gift of prophecy did not make a Balaam good, 
nor could the gift of language make a teacher pious. 

Doubtless not Eliab, or Abinadab, or Shammah, 
or any of seven was annointed, only David. David 
was surprised. Certainly his father and brothers 
were. I fancy I can see upon the faces of those 
brothers a smile expressive of amusement and con- 
tempt. So little do we understand each other. The 
president of the New York Central E. R. with a 
salary of fifty thousand dollars a year was once a 
clerk of mine in this city — and not an important 
clerk, either. I saw nothing remarkable in that 
young man, but there must have been a great deal 
in him that I did not see. So of David and his 
brothers. The poetry and grandeur of his soul, yet 
latent, was undiscovered by those who should have 
known him best; but seen by God. 

Doubtless those seven brothers did not know for 
what they had been thus exhibited; but whatever 
the purpose was, each knew that he had been re- 
jected. And that word rejected is one of the sad- 
dest in our language. I would be your friend, but 
you reject my friendship. I love you, but you re- 
ject my love. You cast it from you as a worthless 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 299 

thing. For this, both men and women sometimes 
fly to suicide. 

I had seen magdalens in famous galleries, but I 
have seen none like this. I said this must have been 
an inspiration. The artist answered, no, it was not 
an inspiration; it was life. I had long wished to 
paint a magdalen, and had searched the hospitals 
of Paris. At length I fell on this. Her father is 
a distinguished advocate. She loved unwisely and 
with her lover fled. When she found herself be- 
trayed she sought her home. Its doors were closed 
to her. From bad to worse she fell; till now, a 
wild and dissipated life had brought her to the 
hospital, a victim of consumption. It was plain 
to see few days were left to her. She told her 
simple story of rejection by her father, and deser- 
tion by all others, but acceptance by Him who came 
to save the erring and the lost. Her upturned face 
and tearful eyes told all contrition could express. 
In that supreme moment the artist caught the 
heavenward look. 

But rejections such as these are only incidents of 
human life. They sink beneath the billows, the 
wave of time sweeps over them. The surface of 
the sea where they went down is calm and smooth. 
Not a ripple there betrays the sorrows that have 
sunk below. The world moves on; they are for- 
gotten. I do not know what hell is, but I feel 
sure on this holy Sabbath morning there are men 
in hell who would give all the gold and all the 
pearls and all the diamonds this earth and all 
the stars that glitter in the midnight sky still hold 



300 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

within their grasp if they had not rejected Him 
who holds His arms out to the erring and lost. 

Thank God the rejection of Eliab, Abinadab, and 
their five brothers, was not eternal ; it was only one 
of time. Not that they might not enter heaven, 
only, each was unfit to be a king. But this sug- 
gests the serious thought that some day each of 
us must stand for inspection as these brothers did; 
one by one pass before an eye that looketh not 
to countenance nor height of stature, but whose 
vision penetrates the deep recesses of the human 
heart, and by it, and not by outward signs, shall 
we be judged. That fearful ordeal must sure- 
ly come, without an arm to lean upon, without 
the tenderness and sympathy that we are used to 
here. Shall it then be said of us, as one by one 
we pass before that court of last resort, "Neither 
hath the Lord chosen this? 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 301 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 

1 Sam. 17:38-49. The border warfare long ex- 
isting between Philistia and Israel, had culminated 
in the assembly of two armies which now faced each 
other at Shocho. Each was posted on an eminence 
which gently sloped toward the valley which sepa- 
rated them. Each, occupying an advantageous 
position, invited an attack, but each, also, feared 
to make it. 

Quite in accord with usage of many centuries 
ago, Philistia sent out a champion who with in- 
solent and bitter words challenged the hosts of 
Israel to send a man to engage with him in single 
combat, and thus decide the issue of the war. 

In the midst of this, the shepherd boy arrived with 
supplies and messages of love to his brothers in 
the army. Stung by the taunts of the Philistine, 
and wondering why no one in Israel responded to 
the challenge, he announced that he himself would 
be the champion of Israel and of God, despite the 
sneers and protestations of his brothers. 

Saul listened with surprise. What! You, a strip- 
ling, a mere shepherd boy, fight with that trained 
soldier — and he a giant? Those words remind us 
of another question asked a thousand years there- 
after, — Is not this the carpenter's son? You ex- 
pect to revolutionize the world with your wild doc- 



302 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

trines? Back you to your sheepfold, and you to 
your bench! 

If the boy is to fight the giant he must be well 
prepared for it. So the armor and the sword of 
Saul were fastened on him. Perhaps until this 
moment David thinks this is the thing to do. But 
no sooner does he start than he turns back. 

Take off this hardware store and give me my 
own simple sling. 

David had sense enough to see that if he was 
to fight, he must fight in ways that he was used 
to. But that requires a great deal of good sense; 
more than most of us have. Moody had it. He 
had no eloquence and knew it. But in his rough 
and tumble way he could reach men's hearts. Sup- 
pose you had tried to coach him with eloquence 
and diction and the graces of an orator, you would 
have made a fool of him. He could not wear 
Saul's armor, but give him a simple sling and a 
fair chance, and he would hit the mark almost 
every time. So you and I have Some place to fill 
in God's eternal kingdom. You may be but an 
humble brick and I may be but mortar. Let us 
each try to find the place we are intended for. A fa- 
mous preacher once said, "I was never of any use 
until I found out that God did not cut me out 
for a great man. After that I believe that I was 
useful." 

But notice. When David threw off the armor he 
did not quit the undertaking. He might have said, 
and with reason, If I am to fight a man in armor,. 
I must have an armor. 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 303 

I can not wear Saul's armor, but get me one to fit 
me. So, some of you may say, If I could preach 
like Spurgeon, or speak in public, or even hold a 
class in Sunday school, I would do a lot of good. 
You would; would you? Well, if you can not wear 
Saul's armor, what's the matter with the sling? 
Are not the streets and alleys open to you? The 
woman who first led the Moody boy to Sunday 
school did more good than a hundred men who 
sometimes speak and try to teach. 

"Chose five smooth stones." Observe his care 
and thought. He did not take them at random, he 
"chose" them. 

Why not one, since as it turned out that was 
enough? That would be presuming. How could he 
foresee that one would be enough? Well, then, 
why not more than five? Probably he thought 
that more than five he could not throw before 
he was cut to pieces. 

Why "smooth?" Rough stones would not fly 
as swiftly ; might be deflected in their flight. When 
you go out in missionary work, go thoughtfully 
as David did. Have five good arguments, for one 
might miss. And have them smooth and sharp, so 
if they hit at all, they may sink in. 

"Proved." The objection named by David to 
Saul's armor was he had not proved it. There is 
a lesson to us there. What we call the simple 
faith is beautiful and good, but is not always last- 
ing. In some sudden blow — it may be death; it 
may be what we call misfortune — the simple faith 
is sometimes overthrown. For safety in such storms 



304 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

as these, faith should be armored with a knowledge 
of the Bible. David himself, who that day had 
faith enough to fight the giant, and perhaps the 
whole Phillistine army, had not then entirely proved 
his faith as he found out thereafter. 

Then observe God's preparation for this battle. 
One of His mountain torrents had, perhaps for 
centuries, been smoothing those stones for David's 
use that day. This was not a miracle; it was plain 
common sense, but it had two purposes, the imme- 
diate and later one. We do not know the distance 
of the combatants apart, and perhaps the shot was 
not remarkable. A traveler in the Orient says he 
saw a slinger kill a bird at forty yards, and it 
is not likely David was so far from his antago- 
nist when he sent forth that fateful stone. 

God uses man to carry out His purposes — holding 
miracle in reserve for man's impossibilities. "With 
Pharaoh behind you, and neither bridge nor boat, 
you must yet cross a sea. God opens us a passway. 
With three million people in a wilderness and noth- 
ing there to eat, in the midnight of darkness, an un- 
seen hand is scattering food, and the morning shows 
abundance ; but when the well filled fields of Pal- 
estine were reached, there is no further miracle. 
God had resolved to change the dynasty. But 
change of dynasty always meant civil war. 

Assuming, then, that God uses man to carry out 
His purposes, holding miracles in reserve for man's 
impossibilities, how could God make David king 
without a miracle and without a civil war? The 
answer is as plain as the writing on the wall. God 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 305 

takes advantage of the circumstances. Did He 
create them? I do not know. But the achieve- 
ment of the unknown shepherd boy made him at 
once the idol of the nation. And when the time 
arrived, he became the king by universal accla- 
mation. 

The Golden text is, "If God be for us who can 
be against us?" Well, who can? And if anybody, 
what matters it? If the child has a mother's love, 
what odds if others are indifferent? If you feel 
your father's grasp upon your hand, what if Satan 
stands before you with a spear like "weaver's 
beam?" With the simple stone and sling of faith 
you shall overcome. 



306 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 



JEALOUSY AND ENVY. 

1 Sam. 18:15-16. The lesson is jealousy and 
envy much alike but not identical. We are jealous 
when we fear some one may possess something 
that we think of right we ought to have; we are 
envious when some one does possess something we 
should like to have, but know we have no right 
to. Jealousy is not always sinful; envy is. 

Perhaps Saul was not jealous, but he was en- 
vious. The grand achievements of David should 
have endeared David to Saul as they endeared him 
to the nation. What is the effect of envy? 
Mertius, a citizen of Rome, was known to be of 
such an envious nature that Publius one day ob- 
serving him to be very sad, said either some great 
misfortune has befallen Mertius, or some very 
great fortune must have come to some one else. 
Even a great King of Israel once turned his face 
toward the wall and wept because he could not 
get a little bit of vineyard that a man named 
Naboth had. 

The envious man is worse off than the snake, for 
the venom of the snake is harmless to itself. 

Some one has remarked that Plato and Xeno- 
phon, while contemporaries and prolific writers, 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 307 

never mention each other. Had they lived a hundred 
years apart either would have quoted from the other. 

Two school girls in this city — good, lovable, 
amiable, inseparable in school and elsewhere. 
One marries well; the other marries badly. Both 
are lovely women now, but they are separated by 
the envy of the one who can not abide the pros- 
perity of the other. In our late civil war one 
of Lincoln's greatest troubles was the envy of com- 
manding officers. Only the most successful of them 
were destitute of it. 

Envy leads to hate ; hate to murder. Of course 
every envious person will not kill; of course not. 
Every stone you start a rolling will not reach the 
bottom of the hill. Typhoid fever will not always 
end in death. But unless something stops the 
stone it will reach the bottom. Unless something 
stops the fever it will end in death. So, envy 
leads to hate, and unless somewhere stopped along 
its course, it will surely lead to murder. Cain en- 
vied Abel. Next he hated him. As there was 
nothing to stop the stone from rolling after that, 
he killed him. 

You think this overstrained? You say you know 
a dozen envious people and none of them have 
murdered? Yes; and I know two dozen people 
who have taken strychnia and they have not died, 
and still strychnia is a poison. 

The first human blood that ever stained this 
world that in His bounty God had meant to be 
a world of beauty, was shed by envy. The world, 
with all its mountains and its plains, was not big 



308 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

enough to hold two brothers when the soul of one 
was steeped in envy. And still, throughout the 
ages, where neither blood has stained its flowers, 
nor bones have fertilized its grasses, the heart- 
aches of the centuries, at which angels must have 
wondered, were but the children of the envy and 
the hate which found its first expression in the 
crime of Cain. Envy finds lodgment only in 
ignoble souls. You can not raise cereals on a mar- 
ble floor; neither can envy enroot itself within the 
heart-range of nobility. 

But hate does not always come from envy — it 
sometimes results from wrong. Still, come from 
what it may, you can not afford to indulge in it. 
Endure the wrong if need be, as David did — the 
right will commonly appear; but if it does not, 
you can not sacrifice your life to hate or nurture 
feelings of revenge, which like an epiphyte will 
cling to you and smother what remains to you of 
happiness. 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 309 



A NEW HEART. 

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew 
a right spirit within me." — Ps. 51:10. 

It would be hard to find more earnest, more im- 
passioned words than these. Under what circum- 
stances were they spoken? 

Born to a sheepfold, David was now surrounded 
by magnificence of royalty. Was David happy? 
No. Commander of armies, wielding a sceptre, king 
though he was, there is a power greater than that 
of kings. That power is conscience. Before this 
he shrank. Slumber had forsaken him, sleep no 
longer visited him, the charms of Bathsheba no 
more allured him. 

Constantly pursuing him there was a spectre. The 
pallid face, the bleeding form, the death wounds of 
Uriah in his dying agony before the walls of Rab- 
bah — the brave and faithful soldier who would ac- 
cept no shelter for himself while his comrades and 
the ark of God were camping in the tented field. 

"Thou shalt not covet." 

This was one of the laws born of the travail of 
Mt. Sinai. The finger of the Eternal had written it. 
It came with a solemnity and grandeur, second only 
to the birth of the world. It covered everything 
that could be coveted. Did it include woman? Yes. 
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife." Man's 



310 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

love for woman, oft his weakest point — I wonder if 
the story in the Book is fully told ? The serpent did 
not seek the man? 

''And it came to pass in the eventide, that David 
arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of 
the king's house ; and from the roof he saw a woman 
washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful 
to look upon." 

And this was David's undoing. But for this he 
might now shine, the brightest star among the gal- 
axy of saints. He who had courage to engage a 
giant, ability to win a kingdom and piety to lift him 
far above his fellows, is overcome by beauty. Is 
beauty then, which like the flower, withers almost 
with the touch, so terrible, so fateful ? Must woman, 
lovely in all ways, still be chief agent of the tempter? 

What then ? Mad passion followed. Duty to God, 
his neighbor and himself; a nation's weal, an army's 
safety, nothing must oppose his passion. He must 
possess the woman. 

How strange, the mixture of the evil and the good ! 
How close, the sinner and the saint! How near 
together, heaven and hell, when every cradle holds 
the elements of both. 

Is it the greatest sinner who sometimes becomes 
the greatest saint? Few men have murdered hus- 
bands to rob them of their wives. Yet, who so 
loftily has written? And who so far has stretched 
God's mercy? 

1 ' Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest bat- 
tle and retire ye from him that he may be smitten 
and die." 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 311 

Who knows the human heart, even his own ? Who 
knows the depth to which humanity may fall? A 
year, a month before the writing of that fatal let- 
ter would David have believed he could have writ- 
ten it? 

Mad passion had controlled him. This, dulling 
conscience, warped his sense of right. Now, con- 
science once more asserts itself. Remorse harrows 
him. He sees himself, the hideous thing he is. Hell 
revels in his punishment. 

In such condition men commonly resolve to cut 
off swearing, lying, drinking, cheating and all be- 
setting sins. But who was ever made a perfect man 
by resolutions? 

David saw more clearly. Reformation might be 
good for some, but as for him — his heart was vile. 
What could reformation do for him? Only a clean 
heart could satisfy the now instructed yearning of 
his soul. He does not think of separate sins, the 
wrong he did to Bathsheba, the fouler wrong he did 
the brave Uriah. " Against thee, thee only have I 
sinned." He sees two things — a holy God, a filthy 
heart. These chain his vision. 

It is in this view, and in an agony of soul he cries 
to the only source of help the sinking soul may find 
— the only one that you or I can ever find. And 
what is his cry? With words of pathos which shall 
forever touch the human heart so long as hearts are 
human, he cries, " Create in me a clean heart, 
God!" He recognized the stupendous fact that for 
such a heart as he desired creation was required. 

It is not development he asks for, perhaps he 



312 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

had no knowledge of development. It is crea- 
tion. A simian, as ancestor, might be respectable, 
and back of him an oyster or a clam. But David 
sighed for a created heart and only a creator can 
create. 

"Create in me a clean heart." This was a thou- 
sand years before the paraphrase upon it was ut- 
tered by the Nazarene — "Ye must be born again." 

As with but twenty-six letters in our alphabet 
great books are printed, and with but twelve sounds 
in music great symphonies are written, so with but 
two conditions only, heaven is daily growing richer 
by the constant influx of souls carried upward on 
the fiery chariot of repentance and belief. 

What is repentance? Is it sorrow for sins com- 
mitted? The thief is also sorry — when discovered. 
And yet, of repentance, sorrow must be an element. 
Is it remorse? The criminal may be still more re- 
morseful. Is it in doing penance? "By works shall 
no man be justified." No, it is by none of these. 
And yet, dependent on one's nature — some feeling 
more, some feeling less — it must include them all. 

Repentance? — What is it? The sinner knows his 
course is wrong. If so, the opposite must be the 
right. In plain English, then, repentance is to turn 
about and go the other way. There is no mystery 
about it. The child who pours out his confession 
in his mother's ear, determined to offend no more — 
this is repentance and there is no higher type of it. 
From before the flashings of Mt. Sinai the sinking 
soul is lifted by the words of Christ, "He who 
cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." And 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 313 

this was no less true before he came than it is now. 
Repentance? — Who knows repentance but he who 
has repented ? It is the patient, not the doctor, who 
understands the pain. 

1 'Renew a right spirit within me." 

While nothing short of a creation was asked for 
in the heart, only renewal was asked for in the 
spirit. Why? As obedient son, a faithful friend, 
indulgent father, — as loyal to his country, as Christ- 
like in forgiveness to Saul, the spirit he had had was 
good enough. He asks only for its renewal. Few 
of us, perhaps, while asking for a clean heart, dare 
ask for a renewal of the spirit we had had. 

Riding up Tyburn Hill, seeing a poor wretch on 
a scaffold to be hanged, the pious Rowland Hill ex- 
claimed, "There goes Rowland Hill but for the 
grace of God." 

"Create in me a clean heart." We think, and ac- 
tion follows thought. Careless, today we touch the 
strings which in the future will give harmony or 
discord. We speak into the phonograph of time, 
which, in the great hereafter shall give back our 
words to us in pleasure or regret. 

The life of David is a lesson to humanity. It is 
a lesson of the untrustworthiness of the human 
heart. Few know its capabilities for good, none 
know its possibilities of evil. 

"Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed 
lest he fall." "Watch and pray, lest ye enter into 
temptation." 



314 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 

Our Lord employed parables as means of in- 
struction, because of the readiness with which 
they commanded attention. Everybody has no- 
ticed the effect upon an audience when a public 
speaker descends from abstract reasoning to con- 
crete illustration, and clinches his point by a well 
applied anecdote. Our Lord used that power with 
great force. 

Prodigality, by which we mean a waste of 
money or or property, was condemned by our Lord 
when, after feeding five thousand people He or- 
dered His disciples to take up the fragments. We 
never find the Scriptures commending any prodigal 
but one, and then only when he ceased to be 
a prodigal. 

Prodigality, which is wrong, must not be con- 
founded with generosity, which is noble. Both 
spend freely. But one spends usefully, while the 
other spends heedlessly. 

Nor should the opposite of free spending be 
considered parsimony or stinginess, for I have 
known men who would take pains to save the 
fraction of a cent; who would walk to save a five 
cent car fare, but who would at the same time 
give dollars to charitable or other useful objects. 

Prodigality is waste, and God hates waste. For 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 315 

forty years He gave the Israelites all the- manna 
they needed, but not a nickel's worth to throw 
away. He gives the orchards and fields all the 
heat they need to bring their nurslings to perfec- 
tion, and then withholds His heat. He gave to 
man a revelation of Himself in Jesus, and then 
withheld all further revelations. 

There was more manna where the manna came 
from; there is more heat where the heat comes 
from; there is more knowledge where the revela- 
tion in the life of Jesus came from, but in the 
opinion of the Father, more than is and has been 
given would not be useful to as — would be waste. 

In the lesson before us, Luke 15:11-24, a cer- 
tain man had two sons. God at that time had 
two sets of children — the Jews and the Gentiles. 
(Read 11-13 to "far country.") 

Like many a young man we have all seen, I call 
to mind a case in this city, only the father did 
not divide all his property with him. If he had, 
neither of them would have had much in the end. 

But what a piece of impudence ! "What right 
had he to demand that for which his father had 
toiled and earned? Why should he not go and 
earn for himself? But that is the way such young 
men do, and often they wish the old man dead 
in order that they may possess themselves of his es- 
tate. 

Fathers are often too indulgent. This father 
was, and instead of refusing the unreasonable and 
insolent demand, he complied with it. 



316 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

Then see the result. Displaying no filial feel- 
ings, no affection for his father or his family, this 
young man "took his journey into a far country, 
and there wasted his substance in riotous living." 
(Read on to close of 16th.) 

Now here is a lesson to parents. If this father 
had refused this request of his son, the young 
man might have remained at home and grown up 
a useful citizen. Fatherly affection and parental 
indulgence led to his ruin. Of course the young, 
man was a criminal, but the father was not entire- 
ly free from blame. 

What did he do when he got into that foreign 
country? What do most young men do away 
from the restraining influence of home? Did he 
inquire for the nearest church or Sunday school of 
his denomination, or the nearest preacher of his 
father's church? No; not a word of it. Did he 
seek to make acquaintance of church people or of 
young men of religious principles? Never. He 
found associates of his own kind, and he had a 
good time with them. 

Good time? Yes; he called it a good time, and 
he thought it was. There was a flowing bowl, a 
gaming table, a rollicking song, "We won't go 
Home till Morning." There were the gaudily 
dressed women with painted faces. Probably there 
was now and then a scramble with the police; per- 
haps a lockup now and then, and had it been in Lou- 
isville, there might have been a pistol shot ; a young 
man killed, and our hero, if he were not the victim, 
might have been the killer, like the young man from 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 317 

Beattyville who last week was tried for murder. 
This is what he might have done and might have 
been. Or he might have been like a well known 
young man in our own city who got his inheri- 
tance, and if he ever drew a sober breath there- 
after nobody ever heard of it, and at twenty-five, 
or thereabouts, sank into a drunkard's grave. 

But this fellow, fortunately for him, happened 
to fall into a country where there were no pistols 
and no whiskey. So he was saved the fate of 
these young men. 

And he had a good time — what he thought was 
a good time — so long as his money lasted. That 
is just as long as such good times always last. 

While his money held out there were plenty to 
laugh at his jokes, flatter and cajole him, but when 
there were no more dollars there was no more 
flattery. Even the pretty girls that thought he 
was so smart did not seem to know him now. 

And now he comes to himself. Everything is 
gone, and he is hungry. Where are his friends 
now? Not one to give him a dinner; not even a 
cold lunch. To get a bite to eat he hires out 
to feed hogs. What an employment for a Jew! 
And even then it seems he gets no hire, or at least 
no food, for we find him, like the hogs, feeding 
on the husks, sharing with them their own food. 

Well, that is pretty low down for a young 
gentleman of good birth and fortune. But that 
picture is true to life. Indeed, it will bear a much 
heavier shading and still be true. It is the evil 
consequence of parental indulgence; it is the 



318 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

curse that too often falls upon the young man 
gifted with money and a life of indolence. The 
salvation of most young men is work. Poverty 
and work have saved more young men from crime, 
and made good citizens of them, than any other 
cause — more even, than Christianity, because 
Christianity has but little power to reach the young 
man gifted with money and nothing to do. The 
law of labor — "By the sweat of your brow shall 
you earn your bread'' — lies at the root of social 
ethics, and is more promotive and protective of 
good morals than all other laws that have ever 
been written. 

But the parable has another side to it — the side 
our Lord meant to teach. He draws the portrait 
of a young man; holds him up before us and 
hears us say, ''What a fool he was." Then He 
turns the picture to the other side and lo! we sec 
no longer the young man; we see ourselves. 

He shows us that we have had an inheritance; 
received from an indulgent father; an inheritance. 
of time, of intellect, of knowledge, the Bible, the 
church, the Sunday school — that we have wasted 
that rich inheritance; that, like as one in His 
parable of the talents, we have not improved; we 
have wasted. "We might have dwelt in love and 
favor with the Father. We did not. Rather we 
wandered from Him; squandered the inheritance 
He generously gave us. 

Now, when we come to ourselves (if we do) per- 
ishing with hunger for spiritual food, we turn 
toward our Father. 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 319 

In the bitter wormwood of repentence and in 
the rags and tatters of humility we seek His face. 
And when yet we are a great way off He comes 
to meet us. 

Christian, have you never had that experience, 
and felt how sweet it was? You know no earthly 
father would do you that way — only He, your 
Father in heaven. 

When you come back to Him, saying, I have 
wandered; I am no longer worthy to be called thy 
child, but let me be one of the lowest of thy 
servants, so only that I may be one of those who 
serve thee. And then, when in answer to that, 
He throws His arms around you, He kills the 
fatted calf, and puts a ring upon your finger, all 
in token of forgiveness and a full acceptance, 
does not your heart overflow with love? 

If so, you can understand the parable of our 
Lord, for that is what He meant to teach by it — 
the tenderness and forgiving disposition of our 
Father for the wanderings and the weakness of 
His child. 

One evening after I had been talking to the in- 
mates of the Home of the Friendless on Jefferson 
Street, between Tenth and Eleventh, I said to a 
young woman whom I had observed to be much 
affected, "Why do you weep?" She answered, 
"My tears are not tears of grief; they are tears 
of joy. I was thinking of the prodigal, and then 
still more of the Father hastening to meet him and 
throwing His arms around him and clasping him 



320 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

to His h.f^art, sinful though he was. I thank God 
that that is in the Bible." 

For more than forty years, as some of you know, 
I have tried to teach the Bible as best I could. 
During those years I have studied what is called 
theology. But the result of all my study is em- 
bodied in this parable. All mankind are in one 
sense children of the Most High. All are in- 
clined to wander. But all, on turning back to 
Him, are rescued with a generosity of love un- 
known to human kind. 

This is all the theology I know. This is all 
that I think any one can know. It is all, at all 
events, that it is necessary for us to know — the 
forgiveness of the Father and the love 'of the 
^returning prodigal. 

If you know and feel that, if you know and 
feel it now, you have a safe passport to the abodes 
of the blest. For a Father's tender mercy has so 
arranged the gates of heaven that the keys of re- 
pentenee and love will turn their bolts and raise 
their barriers. 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 321 



THE DRAUGHT OF FISHES. 

Luke 5:1-11. The period of uncertainty that 
lingered with Him in the wilderness is gone. The 
clouds that gathered round Him are dispelled. If 
He does not yet see the end, he sees the present 
clearly, and He takes up the burden. Already He 
has gathered some disciples. His rendezvous is the 
famous city of Capernaum hard by the Lake of 
Galilee. In Judea He has already taught with 
scant success, but the commerce of the Galileans, 
and their intercourse with foreigners had broad- 
ened them and made them more susceptible to 
truth. John had fulfilled his mission and now, shut 
up in prison, he was waiting for the end. The 
Lake of Galilee was fringed with villas of the rich 
that gathered on its shores, fanned by the cooling 
breeze that swept across its waters. The rich have 
long since disappeared from there; the villas are 
no longer seen, but the lake remains, as Dean 
Stanley says, "the most sacred sheet of water this 
earth contains/' 

Verse 1. 

Our lesson opens with the statement that "the 
people pressed upon him to hear the word of 
God." We do not read that this had happened in 
Judea. 



322 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 

"To hear the word of God!" How much alike 
is history in all ages. Assumed a God, and He a 
ruler and a judge, how wonderful that men can be 
indifferent to His word. And yet, with all the 
open churches in this city, where that word is read 
and taught, how few attend them. Is it because 
they know that word, or because they do not care 
for it? Do not care for it, and death at hand, 
and hell — whatever that may be — beyond ? Is it not 
true, and is it not remarkable that men of busi- 
ness, men in the professions, know less of God's 
word than of any other word? This morning by 
the Lake Genesareth there was eagerness to know. 
Men pressed upon the teacher. 

Verse 2. 

Still fishermen, were these disciples. They had 
not yet quite given up their trade. The most 
successful teachers of God's word have not all 
been bred in seminaries. Moody was a clerk, and 
Bunyan was a traveling tinker. But Bunyan wrote 
the "Pilgrim's Progress," which has been published 
in more languages than any other book except the 
Bible, and Canon Farrar says that it is next to it. 

Verse 3. 

I have seen the grand cathedral at Cologne where 
centuries were consumed in building it. I have 
heard sermons in grand churches where the charms 
of oratory pulsated in the glory of heaven's light 
streaming through windows wrought by art from 
beauty's loftiest conceptions, aided by organ's soft 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 323 

and swelling tones. And my soul has sunk before 
the power of eloquence and art. But nearly nine- 
teen hundred years ago, with a fishing boat for 
pulpit in the quiet of the lake and sky, and the 
eloquence of silence of surrounding hills, there was 
a grander sermon preached than you or I have ever 
heard, for there the preacher was a man who spake 
as never man has spoken. We are denied the hear- 
ing of that sermon, but we know it must have 
borne upon its syllables the gentleness of love, the 
tenderness of pity, and the grandeur of the life be- 
yond the grave. 

Verse 5. 

Simon had toiled all the night and caught noth- 
ing. Many of us toil a life time and at the end, 
what have we ? An empty net. Men fish for wealth 
or fame. They toil all night; they toil all day. 
At the end of life, what have they? But he who 
sinks his net where Jesus points gathers a reward 
of blessings here and happiness hereafter. 

Verse 6. 

Did Jesus see those fish as shoals of fish are 
sometimes seen rippling the surface when they 
swin near to it? The fishermen did not see them. 
Did He by His divine power, draw those fish there, 
or did He by that power see what others could 
not see? We do not know, but evidently it was 
one or the other. 

Peter plainly saw in it a proof of the miracu- 
lous, an evidence of the supernatural, or a proof 



324 THE WRITINGS 0E THEODORE HARRIS. 

of holiness so shocking to his nature that he (verse 
8), prostrating himself before the Master, exclaims, 
" Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." 
And yet, he did not mean just that. On the con- 
trary, as paraphrased by Canon Farrar, he meant, 
I am utterly unworthy to be near thee, yet let 
me stay." 

But assuming in one or other point of view, this 
was a miracle, why was it performed? As a proof 
of power? When did Jesus work miracles for that 
alone? Once, without barns or corncribs He fed 
a multitude with a loaf or two, and two small 
fishes. But there was hunger and no food near. 
Was famine threatened at Capernaum? Or scar- 
city? We read of nothing of the kind. When He 
gave sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, dis- 
pelled disease, or raised the dead, He showed His 
power, but He also gave a blessing, or He filled 
a need, and always it was that way. Always there 
was a double purpose, always a double meaning, al- 
ways a twofold end. But here no need is men- 
tioned, and we have no right to infer a need when 
none is stated. Jesus was no boaster, no player for 
applause. Then, why this miracle? 

Was it an object lesson to those young disciples? 
Was it as a drop that presages a coming flood? 
Here stood a man in peasant dress, with fisher- 
men for His assistants, beginning a new gospel to 
a crowd around Him. Where fish were not sup- 
posed to be, He swings the net and gathers in 
so great a multitude the net would hardly hold 
them. Was it the prescience of what would be in 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 325 

centuries to come, when nations in a day would 
be reborn? Was that its hidden meaning? When 
the glory of Christ, and the reflected glory of 
those humble fishermen should shine in heaven's 
own light? I think that was the teaching of the 
draught of fishes, but it was known to Him alone; 
to those around it was only a wonder. 

But was the teaching that, and only that? Oh, 
no. The net that drew those fishes to the shore 
contained the large, the small, the many varied 
species that swam the Lake of Galilee. Later, 
when John said, "We saw one casting out devils 
in thy name and we forbad him because he follow- 
eth not with us," Jesus replied, "Forbid him not, 
for he that is not against us is for us." 

Oh, that grand and glorious net that gathers 
in the rich and poor, the learned and unlearned; 
that takes within its ample folds the remnants and 
the vestiges of human life,, and those who "follow 
not with us" in our contentions and our narrow 
views, but still they cast out devils in His name! 

The future gatherings of the net He had begun 
to spread, which should include the halt and blind 
of earth, forgetful of their tissue-paper creeds — 
where the Shibboleth of passway is only love to 
God and all mankind — oh, that, I think, shall be 
the glory of the Christ! And that, I think, shall 
prove to be the inner teaching of this wondrous 
draught of fishes. 



326 THE WRITINGS OF THEODORE HARRIS. 



GRAVE, WHERE IS THY VICTORY? 

"Of a truth I say unto you that he will make him 
ruler over all that he hath." Luke 12:44. 

I suppose I had often read that verse and heard 
it read, but now, reading it studiously, I stopped, 
stunned. 

As a parable, I find no parallel or counterpart for 
it in history or in human life. 

Our experience affords no justification for it, noth- 
ing that will in the least degree support the promise. 
For, where is that servant who has been made ruler 
over all our Lord hath, or when have Christ's serv- 
ants been conspicuous for any sort of rulership? 

Fetters rather than scepters, scaffolds rather than 
thrones have most adorned the life of Christianity 
since those words were spoken. Then why did He 
say them ? What did He mean by them ? Surely the 
answer must be found outside of human life. Noth- 
ing is more certain — if we can understand plain lan- 
guage — nothing is more certain than that in all those 
nineteen centuries piety has not been a character- 
istic of government. 

In my dilemma I look outside. I see that in 
the outside world dominion everywhere exists — in 
fish, in birds, in animals. Even in plants, the weeds 
claim mastery and choke the flowers. 

But this is but "survival of the fittest" of the 



SCRAPS FROM MY BIBLE LESSONS. 327 

earth-born. But Christianity is not earth-born, it 
is a transplant from afar. The breath of earth is 
fatal to its growth. 

What, then, if, in some other sphere, those who 
have been most faithful here shall rule over others 
of their kind or of some other kind. 

Then, if that be the meaning of our Lord's words, 
what new light it throws on all we know of heaven ? 
Not that before we did not know that heaven was 
a place of law and order; that there were " man- 
sions" there, or that it was not a place of study and 
improvement. But here we almost see that heaven 
has its provinces, its colonies. And so we almost 
see why God has let men dri^t into such ways of 
government, that, with all their imperfections, these 
ways are educative to their future. 

And heaven, if with all its colonies and provinces 
is a place beyond the sky, of which the outside is 
the stars at midnight, how beautiful the inside must 
be ! Or if, instead of place, it is a condition where 
the far-reaching mind of Newton is progressing; 
where Mozart and Beethoven are working out new 
harmonies; where our great masters of the art of 
chemistry are still pursuading nature to disclose her 
secrets — and all of these under the approving smile 
of the Man of Galilee, then "Death, where is thy 
sting," then "Grave, where is thy victory." 



WHY NOT? 

Missions, missions, missions! Millions of dollars 
and thousands of men and women are being poured 
out by Christian churches upon foreign shores to con- 
vert the heathen, with a result — while we are thank- 
ful for the success gained — upon the whole, which is 
sadly disappointing, and the reason is as plain to see 
as daylight. The only wonder is that Christian mis- 
sionaries, who must have seen it always, have never 
sought to remedy it. The reason is, the various 
churches of the various Christian missions, each zeal- 
ous for its own, one tells him this, another tells him 
that. The consequence — the heathen struggling to 
find the light, or perhaps half indifferent to it, find- 
ing these Christians not agreed among themselves, 
clings to the faith he was perhaps inclined to aban- 
don. 

THE REMEDY. 

Is there a remedy for this, and can the heathen be 
more speedily brought to accept Christianity? Un- 
doubtedly. The remedy is simple. 

If the missionaries are instructed to teach all that 
Jesus and His disciples and Paul taught — plainly 
taught as recorded in the New Testament — nothing 
more ; nothing from imagination ; nothing from in- 
ference ; nothing of what Jesus ought to have taught 
but did not teach; only what He and His disciples 
did teach. 

328 



WHY NOT? 329 

United upon these principles we would have a 
Christian church which would teach repentance, 
faith, baptism, the Lord's Supper, the vicarious death 
of -Jesus and His resurrection — a Christian church 
like the original that all Christians must approve of 
and the heathen would Hock into. 

Of course, upon this basis some of our Christian 
friends would have to <?ive up more or less of cher- 
ished notions. 

For instance, our Catholic friends would have to 
give up prayers to the Virgin and the Saints. But 
still, while that could not be taught by the church 
because there is not a hint of it in the New Testa- 
ment, if one thought he might be helped thereby, 
he would have the risrht to make such prayers.* 

As to baptism and what it is. — History of the 
first Christian century and all of the encyclopedias, 
together with the testimony of the Roman Catholic 
Church, leave no doubt on that subject. 

Also as to infant baptism which is not taught in 
the New Testament either by precept or by example, 
but is an inference. AVhile for this reason infant 
baptism could not be taught, still, if it made any 
mother happy to have the face of her child sprinkled, 
T should not object to it. 

Thus we should have a church on the model of the 
New Testament. Such a church as Paul and Peter 
preached to. And. why not? 

*Closo communion hold by many P>nntists nnd baptism as 
a pro-requisite to the "Lord's Supper held by all Christians, 
oxeept Open Communion Baptists and Qmikors. both being: 
inferences, would have to lie abandoned if the rule to found 
the church on the model of the New Testament were rigidly 
adhered. 



APR 14 1908 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2005 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER .N PAPER PB" E RVAT.ON 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township. PA 16066 

(724)779-2111 



:■ 






